


Friend, Please

by Isabel394



Category: The Dumping Ground
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Bullying, Depression, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-11-18 03:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isabel394/pseuds/Isabel394
Summary: Ryan Reeves is trapped. Not physically, that would be easier to handle. He was smart, he would've been able to figure a way out. But it wasn't physical. Mentally he was locked in battle with his own abusive mind. How can he survive? And will anyone bother to help him?





	1. Ode To Sleep

_"Petrified of who you are and who you have become, you will hide from everyone, denying you need someone to exterminate your bones."_ \- Friend, Please by Twenty Øne Piløts

* * *

 

1:46am

The numbers shone vividly on Ryan's digital clock, burning into his retinas as he stared, unblinkingly, at it. He wasn't tired, in fact, this was early for him. He wouldn't be asleep for another few hours, if at all. His brain was just too loud, too fast. Ryan turned his head back to the ceiling. His eyes were accustomed to the dark so he was able to study the patterns in the paint. A mundane distraction, but a distraction all the same. Anything to reduce the white noise that was buzzing around in his mind. Whoever had painted his room last didn't do the greatest of jobs. You couldn't really tell with the walls because Ryan had covered them from head-to-toe with band posters and pictures of skateboarding tricks. But the ceiling remained bare and seemed to have been decorated in sections, with too much paint in some sections and hardly any paint in others, as if the decorator had tried out different styles in an attempt to find one that worked. Unfortunately, none of them had, so he had given up. Ryan thought that would make a good metaphor, if he could be bothered to think of one. But he couldn't, so he didn't. Maybe the decorator was just drunk.

Ryan tossed and turned for a long while as the part of his brain that so desperately wanted to fall asleep fought ruthlessly with the part that didn't. But the part that didn't drowned out the other with its screams, and Ryan gave up trying to fight it. He lay still and flat, before sighing once in annoyance and standing up, his feet meeting the rough carpet. He paced around the room, lost in thought but not really thinking about anything. It had been weeks since he'd slept properly and physically he was exhausted, but his mind took a bit longer to catch up, and when it did it was rather half-hearted; Ryan slept lightly and was regularly frequented by nightmares. But it was a slightly better option than walking around his bedroom in a failing attempt to quieten his thoughts, so he had to find a way to force his mind to close down.

Ryan paused in front of his window. On nights like this, he sometimes went out and wandered around town. The fresh air made it easier to get his thoughts in order which in turn made him tired. It didn't always work though, so it was really left as a last resort, especially since he had to use his window instead of the front door to lower the risk of getting caught. But Ryan was beginning to grow desperate, and besides, he'd started to feel somewhat trapped inside the four walls of his bedroom. A peaceful walk would do him good, or as peaceful a walk as a head suffocated with the branches of depression would allow.

So at... 1:58am, Ryan opened his window as slowly and quietly as he could, before letting his leg hang down the other side to search for the ledge he used for support. He had done this so many times in the last few years that he knew exactly where to go and, unbeknownst to most people, Ryan was actually a very good climber, what with his long legs and skinny build, so he found it scarily easy to clamber out of his second floor bedroom and shimmy down the thin drainpipe, landing safely onto the damp grass below. Such a clichéd act of escapism, found all the time in books and films. Ryan's life could be described as relatively cliché. The classic Young Adult novel. If he was in a book, he probably wouldn't be the protagonist, or at least, not the main one. He'd be the moody, wannabe gothic boy-next-door that the female protagonist would meet one day. She would be up late reading, or typing some kind of entry for her blog on her computer, and she'd look up, out of her window, and grow curious when she saw him scaling the side of his care home in the middle of the night. She would begin to study his movements, wait up every evening to catch a glimpse of him escaping, or perhaps she'd hear beautiful guitar music coming from the direction of his room. Eventually, after a freak meeting at the skatepark, where he'd intrigue her with deep, hand-written poetry and an accidental reveal about his traumatic past, she would fall head-over-heels in love with him. And it would end in either two, equally infuriating ways, often explored by the kind of authors that Ryan hated. He would leave clues dotted around all the places that the young couple had spent "special moments" together, post-it notes with lines of poetry, or a page ripped from a book, a quote underlined in pencil. The girl would follow them all, never losing hope until the final moment where she was forced to conclude that he had tragically ended his life, and when news spread of his demise, he would be remembered by all his peers as the equivalent of a war hero, crying bitterly at his funeral. Peers who conveniently forgot that not once had they tried to help him, or even ask whether he was okay once in a while. Instead they blatantly ignored him, save for the few occasions when they felt like hissing abuse at him from the back of the classroom. The protagonist would then be heartbroken for a few weeks, before her friends broke into her house and organised an "emergency sleepover" insisting that she move on.

Or, the story would end in the more preferable way chosen by authors; where the girl's love was so deep and true that after just a few months of being with her, Ryan was cured of whatever was making him sad, claiming that it was her eyes that had saved his life. And they'd live happily ever fucking after.

"Yeah right," Ryan thought bitterly. The unlikelihood of either ending happening to him was laughable. For starters, if this book involved a love story between Ryan and another person, it wouldn't be with a girl, which already would be a turn off for publishers, or even any directors who had been rubbing their hands in excitement at the prospect of another romance they could butcher. No, unfortunately for them, Ryan was not attracted to girls in any romantic sense. The thought of having a girlfriend and having to kiss her or touch her, simply made him uncomfortable. He had kissed a few girls in the past, but only to stop classmates whispering behind his back. He had felt nothing when he had been with them, though again, in a romantic sense. Not to be confused with his lack of feeling towards anything anyway.

The other problem he had with this story metaphor, which, by now had turned into an unreasonably long metaphor, was the author's tendency to... what were the words? "Romanticise mental health." He'd heard that phrase a lot and he hated how many books were guilty of it. So many people seemed to believe that mental illness not only had a simple cure, but that the cure was "true love". If the whole world wanted to live in fucking Disneyland, it was probably best if Ryan stayed away. No one could really understand what Ryan had to go through on a daily basis, the wars he had with his own mind, unless they'd properly experienced it. And those who had experienced it had already had a hard time helping themselves, so how could Ryan expect them to help him as well? If only true love was the answer. Although, if his only option of true love at the moment were a bunch of awkward, homophobic schoolmates then Ryan had a better chance of getting better as he was now.

There was a noise behind him and he stopped walking. It took him a second to realise that it must have just been a passing car from the main road, and then another second to notice his surroundings, and a final second to gather exactly where he was. Ryan was stood outside the park, around ten minutes away from Ashdene Ridge. It was so quiet, that he thought his own breath must be the loudest thing for miles, and the dark street was lit by nothing but a few flickering street lamps. Ryan took a few steps towards the park's rusty metal entrance and held onto the prison-like bars, cold on the skin of his hands and cheeks. Everything looked so different in the dark, like his own night-driven thoughts filtered into real life and made it all look just that bit more unnerving. The winter had caused the trees to lose their stylish green coats, a rather ironic metaphor if you thought about it, but the wind had blown them all away and now they were bare and shivering. In the daytime they had a certain charm about them, the morning dew made them sparkle in the sunlight. But at night they were intimidating and violent. Their twisted arms raised in attack, ready to strangle any unsuspecting loiterers. Ryan would normally have felt uneasy, but right now he felt rather peaceful. As if he was looking at a small part of his own mind from an outsider's perspective, from a distance. It couldn't hurt him. And for once, he felt he was in control.

Another car passed, making Ryan jump. He shook himself out of the trance he'd fallen into, something that happened far too often. He'd go too deep into his thoughts and have short periods of complete obliviousness to the rest of the world. If he didn't realise it in time he'd blank out in one place and "wake up" in another. One minute he was watching TV with Charlie, for example, and the next minute he was in his room, with no recollection at all of walking up the stairs from the living room. This scared Ryan a lot as it meant that one day he could find himself in a dangerous, perhaps life-threatening, situation and not even know how he ended up there, or how to get out. It was only a matter of time before he wandered into oncoming traffic and not even notice the car about to hit him before it was too late.

And now he was doing it again. If he could just stop fucking thinking, for two seconds, maybe he might actually achieve something. Ryan sighed and continued his pointless journey. Hands in pockets, head bent low. The surface of his mind now took control, the part that talked to him, usually only active when he was lying wide awake in bed. The rest of the time it was smothered by the deeper parts of his mind, the dark parts that somehow said everything without saying anything.

"You know," the surface suddenly piped up. "There is a way to stop thinking forever." Ryan actually stopped short at this. He knew what his mind was getting at and he didn't like it one bit that it had managed to get there. He started running. He didn't acknowledge what he was doing, nor focus on where he was running to, he just wanted to get away from the place he had been. If he ran fast enough perhaps he could escape from the unwanted images that his brain produced, and if not that then, at least his body would be so focused on not having a heart attack that it wouldn't have time to send him death threats.

He didn't stop until he became aware of his footsteps, piercing the silence every half second. He almost collapsed onto the pavement and had to support himself with a nearby lamp post while he caught his breath, his lungs now on fire. Once his breathing had slowed and he was able to stand upright he looked around the abandoned street and worked out that he was now around twenty minutes away from Ashdene Ridge. He decided not to take the long route back like he usually did since it was too cold to stay out here for long and Ryan hadn't brought his coat. He didn't really notice the cold but he knew if he stayed outside for much longer he'd probably get very sick, and Ryan didn't want an excuse to stay in bed any more than he had to. Besides, the freezing air was stinging his eyes, and his legs were struggling to support him after his unexpected burst of energy. He had succeeded in making himself tired, and now what he wanted, no, _needed_ , was sleep.

Twenty minutes later, he was back underneath his window, and in a few quick movements, he was on top of his bed, not even bothering to undress, and very soon he lay still and calm, his head finally listening to the rest of his body. His eyes were shut and his breathing was low. 2:38 am. This was a record. Maybe there was still hope of getting better.


	2. Fake It

Sometime during the morning, Ryan fell into a state that people usually only experience when they fall asleep unexpectedly during the day. He knew it was just a symptom of his permanent exhaustion, but it still never failed to scare him slightly. Ryan was half asleep, but his forever active mind failed to realise this, meaning that he was almost fully aware of his surroundings, but his limbs refused to move. And to make things even more confusing, his brain had conjured up a perfectly clear image of his bedroom, seen from the perspective of where Ryan lay, so he was tricked into believing that his eyes were open.

It was anyone's guess how he hadn't grown accustomed to it by now, and it had happened so many times that Ryan had begun to think of it in stages. He felt that this added an air of logic to it, and therefore made it easier to handle. The scariest stage was stage one: Paralysis. Where the movement of his body was out of his control and he felt trapped, weak, vulnerable. Unable to perform simple actions. Stage two was Hallucinations, where his mind would create layers of realistic scenarios, making him only vaguely aware of his true consciousness. He hated this part as well. It was as if he could no longer trust his own eyes, which simply added to his position of powerlessness. Stage three, the irrational but unfortunately unavoidable, was rising panic, where he felt waves of claustrophobia and became convinced that he would never escape from this eternal, artificial state his brain had forced him into. However, within a few hour-like seconds, stage four would take place and Ryan would finally start to regain some form of control, and abruptly return to reality.

He was entering stage three now. His mind had begrudgingly accepted that the body was still flat out refusing to budge, and it had gone back to sleep. But the image of his bedroom stayed where it was, now incorporated into his dreams, so they became more like alternate realities.

His bedroom was underwater. It was dark and heavy, not peaceful and calm like it was supposed to be. Ryan felt scared to breathe in case he drowned.

He shook his head.

His bedroom was completely empty, save for the bed he was lying on. His walls had been stripped bare and the paint was peeling. Sunlight streamed in through cracked and dirty windows.

He shook his head.

If anyone were to walk into his room right at this moment, they'd immediately assume that he was having some sort of fit. He had to keep shaking his head to try and snap out of the loop he'd unwillingly fallen into. He wasn't able to tell if he was awake or not and his body still wouldn't move. If he didn't snap out of it fast enough, his anxiety would start to rise and make things worse, because he'd still be stuck, he just wouldn't be able to breathe.

Eventually he fell into a reality where his ceiling was covered in spiders. They were the harmless, slow kind but their legs were disturbingly long, and right above him. This motivated him enough to keep shaking his head until his eyes were forced open and his limbs gradually came back to life. He rolled over onto his back so his eyes were level with the, now thankfully spider-free ceiling. He used the palm of his hand to push his hair away from his eyes and he kept it there on his forehead, taking deep breaths to calm down.

'Can't even fucking wake up normally,' he thought, cursing his stupid brain.

He lay there for a couple of minutes, with no motivation whatsoever to get out from under the covers. He'd used it all just trying to bloody wake up. He didn't want to go downstairs, and interact with people between whom there was a mutual disdain for. Perhaps if he stayed still and quiet enough everyone would just, forget about his existence and leave him alone forever. He'd enjoy that. He would be untouched and undisturbed by reality, and in return he wouldn't screw everything up like he always did just by being there. It would be much more peaceful, for all parties involved.

"Ryan! You're gonna be late!" Called Mike from the stairway, shattering Ryan's peaceful and isolated contemplations. He audibly groaned and buried his head under the pillows. What did he care? The less time he spent at school the better in his opinion. But obviously, Mike would beg to differ, and besides, Ryan had important daily exams that were too important to miss, no excuse required. So, after using up the last of what he imagined as an emergency energy store, Ryan forced himself to stand up, made harder by his legs, which hadn't quite recovered from the night before. He stretched them a little and stumbled over to his wardrobe, his reflection not a welcoming sight in the full length mirror. His light brown hair was standing on end, and he had somehow forgotten that he was still fully dressed. He had to change of course. Mike would notice that he wasn't in his school clothes.

Ryan opened the wardrobe doors and stared blankly at the contents inside. His selection of shirts weren't great. He had several normal shirts and a black hoodie, but the rest were somewhat unashamedly music related, with band images on the front. He hardly wore them, since they were the kind of bands you got teased for, the one thing Ryan wanted to completely avoid. So he usually just settled for his signature red-checked shirt. And obviously for school he had his uniform. Most of the uniform had been shoved to the back of his cupboard, and the rest was strewn around the room. He spent around five minutes collecting it all into a pile, and threw it on. His shirt was creased and he'd lost both the tie and the jumper ages ago. But as long as it was clean he didn't care. He found the shoes kicked to the side, and slipped them on. After a quick mess around with his fringe, trying and ultimately failing to make it flop over his eyes, he grabbed his school bag, opened his door onto the landing and descended into the kitchen.

* * *

 

"There you are. I was about to call international rescue." Ryan jumped at the sudden voice and turned around. He hadn't noticed Charlie behind him.

"Those amateurs," he replied, quickly regaining his composure. "They started panicking and I had to drive the helicopter myself. It's parked out back, near the shed." Charlie laughed. A short exhale of breath. She was leaning against the porch wall with her arms loosely crossed, schoolbag swinging against her knees. Ryan turned toward the gates and Charlie pushed herself up into a standing position to follow. It had become routine now. Ryan was usually the last person to leave the house, so he and Charlie, who would wait for Ryan at the door, walked alone in general silence to school, sharing Ryan's earphones, which were plugged into his phone. They did the same coming back from school. Ryan would never willingly admit it, but it was his favourite part of the day. Perhaps it was simply because he didn't have a lot of stuff to compare it to, his days generally being pretty shitty, but Charlie was basically his only friend and he tried hard to maintain their friendship since it never failed to elude him why someone like Charlie would ever willingly hang around with someone like him on a daily basis, and he was worried that one day she'd realise her mistake and go back to hating him like everyone else. But so far she was sticking around, and Ryan liked the quiet walks.

"I saw you last night. By the way." She suddenly revealed, breaking the silence, and causing Ryan to pause in the middle of digging around in his pockets for his earphones. She said it softly, as if she was trying to break some bad news to him.

"What the hell were you doing up so late?" Ryan asked, annoyed that he apparently hadn't been as careful as he thought he had, and surprised that he hadn't been the only one awake.

"I'm asking you the same question, Ryan. I thought you said you were going to stop sneaking out. I keep telling you it's dangerous."

"I know, I know it's dangerous but... I'm careful! and, it helps, alright? Sometimes I just need to get out of the house, be on my own." He sighed. "Just stop worrying, I'll be fine." Charlie sighed as well, an exasperated sigh, like a mother would give when her child was being difficult.

"You don't know that, though." Ryan decided to ignore her. He shoved his earphones into his ears and blasted some eighties song, not bothering to let her listen.

Most of the time he really liked Charlie, and he liked that she seemed to care about him, something that he was by no means used to. But Ryan, being his usual closed off, private self, didn't enjoy it much when she interrogated him about his bad habits. He knew she was just being a friend, but Ryan hadn't had much experience in that particular field. So he wasn't great at accepting it, and though he too cared about Charlie, he was very bad at expressing this fact, so he pissed her off a lot. And vice versa. Such an unlikely friendship, when you thought about it.

The two didn't talk for the rest of the journey. This was normal, but usually the atmosphere between them was light hearted and neutral, so the slight chill this time wasn't pleasant. And Charlie had her arms crossed, obviously annoyed at him for deliberately trying to drown her out with his music. Ryan didn't give in, though. He knew it'd all be forgotten by the time school was over, and they'd walk back side by side, sharing a single playlist. However easily they pissed each other off, they usually found the eventual make up even easier. An unlikely friendship, but somehow it worked.

* * *

 

The local secondary school was a plain, red-bricked building, located just outside the suburbs, in the middle of two long residential streets. The large, semi-detached houses surrounding the building cowered in its shadow, like the tiny year sevens tiptoeing around the tough sixth form bullies.

Ryan hated the place. Socially speaking, he was never very good at school. The kids from all his various care homes always made it clear that they didn't want to be associated with him in public, and his normal classmates didn't want to be associated with a care kid. So he was forever stuck in the middle of an unfair social circle. However, acedemically, Ryan was fine. Better than fine actually, he was in the top set for most of his classes, so the teachers regarded him highly, despite his downright rudeness towards some of them. Obviously though, getting on with teachers was not something he could brag about in a public, comprehensive secondary school, but it certainly came in handy sometimes.

Unfortunately, having good grades was a small part of school. Once you'd gotten to a high enough level, exams were no longer your main problem. Surviving became your main problem. In the two years Ryan had attended this place, he'd avoided a majority of the expected hassle by talking back at teachers, picking on the new kids and enthusiastically joining in on any "girl talk" in the boys' locker room. Basically, what he'd done was make himself entirely invisible. He lied about his grades, his interests, his music taste. His sexuality most importantly. Anything that might make him a target, Ryan had found a way to temporarily erase it. It wasn't fun.

"Yeah mate, I love Post Malone's music," Ryan would say to some kid at lunch, with only a vague idea of who Post Malone was. But asking for an opinion on Tyler Joseph or Vic Fuentes would be a cause for looks, scoffs and merciless teasing, so he avoided it. In fact he generally just avoided conversation altogether. Apart from Charlie, Ryan didn't have friends, merely companions whom he could sit next to at lunch. They were only good for a quick chat, or text, or message on WhatsApp, and maybe not even that. They would be of no use in the unlikely event that Ryan would phone someone up in the midst of a mental breakdown and expect to have an in depth and enlightening discussion. Most likely in that scenario they'd tell him to piss off and then hang up. Or ask to use his games console.

However, Ryan was relatively content with his general isolation. The less people he talked to, the less likely it was that any information that could, and definitely would be used against him would get passed around. But keeping up the facade was exhausting, and countless times he had been tempted to give it up, but then he'd hear a mean-looking Year 11 claim that some student he didn't know was "bent", and be met with immature laughter and shouts of "fag!" or "queer!". And Ryan couldn't help feeling waves of anxiety whenever he found himself within earshot of these regular groups, and as he walked past them, his wall of pretence gained an extra row of bricks.

 


	3. The Boy With a Thorn In His Side

Ryan and Charlie pushed their way into the small but rowdy group of teenagers forming in front of the gated entrance and trudged across the gravel towards the open doors. The bell rang, loud and piercing and the low hum of morning conversation was interrupted by the familiar sound of locker doors slamming and a cacophony of plimsolls on the concrete floor. This was usually where Ryan and Charlie parted ways, since she was unfortunately in a different class, further away from his, so she rarely stayed outside with him and waited for the herd of students to disperse. Sometimes she did, on what he called ‘bad anxiety days’ and his risk of a panic attack was higher than usual. She was the voice of reason that kept his paranoia under control.

Ryan wasn't great with crowds. He very easily got claustrophobic, and the obliviousness of everyone, shoving him aside and shouting over his head (which was an impressive feat at the best of times, what with Ryan being a good head taller than a lot of people) was a cause of great stress. So being a few minutes late to class was very much worth the price of having to duck into the nearest bathroom, hiding out in a stall, five-seconds-in-seven-seconds-out, and missing a majority of the lesson anyway.

Charlie understood all this and so never really questioned his behaviour. She waved, the tension between them already fraying. He waved back. And watched her get swallowed by the crowd.

The halls cleared quite quickly; only a few stragglers were left, collecting books or finishing up texts. Ryan was relatively okay with this since it was no longer suffocating, although now he was exposed to these last few eyes. At least in a crowd he'd be invisible. It was a vicious cycle, and one that Ryan had to deal with constantly.

He took a deep breath and headed towards his form room, keeping his eyes straight ahead. It was two, perhaps three minute walk with a lot of stairs to scale, but the lesson never started immediately so he figured he'd make it around the same time as his teacher. He preferred it that way. He hated sitting alone, pissed off at the nonsensical shouting and paranoid that any whispers or giggles were directed at him. He was perfectly happy just sneaking in unnoticed when everyone else was in the process of settling down and hiding at the back, observing and ignoring.

The first lesson was maths, which Ryan considered to be his best subject. This meant that he was quite skilled in following along with the work without actually really listening, so teachers had a hard time trying to catch him out if they suspected that his focus was elsewhere. However, the flaw here was that if they weren't explaining formulas or how to do calculations that Ryan already knew, and therefore didn't need to really think about, he couldn't fully take in what was being said. So when Mr. Harrison began class by introducing a new student, Ryan was hardly aware of the kid until he actually stood up, and broke Ryan’s autopilot mode.

“Everyone, this is Thomas,” Harrison announced, indicating to the boy next to him with an all too enthusiastic smile. “He's going to be joining our class from now on.” Ryan stared at the new guy, more out of plain boredom than general interest. Thomas was tall and awkward, fidgeting a little and averting his eyes from the gaze of judgemental teenagers. Ryan didn't take much notice. He'd decided long ago that anyone who atteneded this school wasn't really worth his time. However, writing off all classmates from the very beginning didn't automatically mean he had to deny those who were relatively good looking. And Thomas, it didn't fail to register, was good looking. In the few minutes Ryan got to look at him before he sat down near the front, he managed to memorise a pretty good amount of the boy’s features. Thomas had smooth, light brown skin and wavy black hair, almost to the point of full curls. His face also seemed to match his age, rounded but sharp in the right places, like he's grown into it properly. Whereas all the other students had either experienced puberty during primary school and now looked more suited for college, or students who had somehow missed puberty altogether, and were no taller than first years, with equally high voices. Personality-wise as well, Thomas already seemed different. He appeared to be pretty shy and judging by his neat uniform and attentive posture, wasn't going to pretend he was some areshole bad boy, an occurrence that happened all too often within classrooms. Basically, Thomas just didn't seem to fit. And that, concluded Ryan, finally turning back to his text book, was by no means a bad thing.

* * *

 

During the two hour lunch period, Ryan kept himself to himself, since Charlie had some club meeting and, again he didn't really have any other friends. Ryan tended to avoid the canteen altogether, not really seeing the point of it. It was crowded, noisy and if he was that desperate to get the piss taken out of him by a bunch of people he didn't care about, he'd just stay home. His hunger was never particularly acute anyway. So Ryan, head bent low, earphones in, snuck out the large double doors to the empty courtyard outside, breathing in the rare moment of peace he was met with. It was a shame that the actual eating part of lunch was so short. Ryan liked the quiet and deserted playground and made the most of it by sitting on the one bench that overlooked the whole area. He simply sat, and thought, and breathed. Then the peace was shattered by the first wave of students trickling through the doors, shouting and laughing and, once they'd spotted Ryan trying not to scowl in their direction, staring curiously. At Ryan the weird kid who had no friends and didn't eat. Ryan the controversial pupil who you either idolised for his bad boy persona and sarcastic remarks, or hated for the same reasons. Most people were a part of the latter group. A lot of them were unaware of his friendship with Charlie, which was a good thing for her since his presence would probably taint her general popularity. She had clubs and events and a social life. Ryan had the wall at the back of the school where he chainsmoked cigarettes, conveniently provided by Year 12’s resident druggie, Stephen Malleck.

“Alright?” Greeted Stephen as Ryan leant against the red bricks, still scowling for no real reason. He nodded in Steve’s direction.

“Never better,” he muttered. Steve rummaged around in his pockets and produced a pack of regular cigarettes.

“Sure you don't want a joint?” He offered. Ryan rolled his eyes. Aside from his crappy attempt at street lingo, Steve asked him that every day. The answer was always no but Steve was annoyingly persistent. Ryan kind of hated the guy.

“Yeah, like I'd waste my money on drugs. I'm not that far gone yet, mate.”

“Alright, dick.” It was very likely that Steve hated him back, but business was business. And his fags were cheap.

Ryan was sitting on the ground, his left arm resting on his knee and his right holding his half burned-out cigarette. He was, as usual, deep in thought, his eyes glued to the fence across from him. He didn't notice someone walk round the corner until Steve piped up.

“What do you want?” He demanded. The interrogative tone already told Ryan that it wasn't a teacher, nor anyone of important, so he simply jumped at the interruption. Looking up he saw that the intruder was the new kid.

“Sorry. I was just, trying to find somewhere quiet. To finish my book,” he explained, as clarification. Ryan raised an eyebrow.

“Nerd,” scoffed Steve. Tom looked at him, with what appeared to be an exasperated expression. Quite a bold emotion towards someone who's so far only said five words to you.

“Yeah well, at least I read more than just drug pamphlets,” he replied, in a weak attempt to sound intimidating. Although Ryan was rather impressed with the confidence. Maybe the guy wasn't as shy as he first thought. He raised an eyebrow again, the only reaction he could be bothered to give, but it was more against Steve this time than Tom.

“Piss off, how do you know about that?”

“Oh come off it,” Ryan laughed. “Even the teachers know, they just can't catch you. God knows why though, you're so thick.”

“Well you're a twat so shut up.” Tom looked both uncomfortable and amused. Ryan didn't like that. He ignored Steve completely.

“You can sit here,” Ryan offered. “It's quiet. Or at least, it's supposed to be.” Tom studied the two of them. It suddenly occurred to Ryan that they probably looked pretty pathetic. He took a hard drag on his cigarette.

“No, thanks.” Replied Tom, in a way that seemed to confirm Ryan’s suspicions. “I think the nerd and loser group is looking for someone more popular. You can stay here and sell drugs to twelve year olds.”

“For the record,” defended Ryan “im not associated with this creep.” Steve made a face. “I just like the occasional smoke. Not a crime, new kid.”

“Whatever. ‘S not like you’re doing anything to stop him. And you know smoking’s bad for you, right?” Ryan was now highly pissed off and wished he'd never opened his mouth. He blew smoke in Tom’s direction, hoping to create a fug thick enough to block him out. Tom wafted it away, rather obnoxiously.

“Yeah thanks, I've seen the ads.” Ryan turned away, indicating that Tom’s existence was now, in his eyes, entirely insignificant, and a somewhat nuisance. Tom just sighed once and left.

“He was a right dickhead.” Steve observed, for absolutely no reason that Ryan could see except perhaps to diffuse the tension.

“Yeah, didn't know you had a brother.”

* * *

 

For the remaining part of the day, Ryan hardly saw Tom again, despite them sharing nearly all the same classes. It wasn't as if Ryan was deliberately avoiding him, he didn't know the guy well enough for that, but he by no means went out of his way to do what the teacher had instructed and “make Thomas feel welcome.’ In fact he took rather a lot of pleasure in doing the opposite. After history, when they all needed to file off to the computer room, Ryan and Tom found themselves the last two left in the classroom, so Tom was forced to ask Ryan for directions to the next lesson. Ryan knew it was a pretty cruel thing to do, and he felt slightly bad after he had said it. After all, Tom wasn't a bad guy, they'd just got off on the wrong foot. But sometimes Ryan just couldn't stop himself and he ended up sending Tom off on a wild goose chase all around the school, when in reality the ICT room was only a few doors away. Tom turned up ten minutes late, red-faced and out of breath and, once the teacher had finished scolding him in front of everyone, utterly humiliated. He'd basically experienced one of the worst parts of being new and had Ryan been in his situation he'd want to be immediately swallowed up by the earth. Tom appeared to share this fantasy and the look he gave Ryan as he sat down almost made Ryan shrink into his seat, and he felt quite glad to be under the watchful eye of a teacher.

“You are a twat, aren't you?” Spat Tom at Ryan when the bell rang again. Ryan just looked at him, smirking.

“Sorry, did I give you the wrong directions?” He replied, his voice as usual dripping with sarcasm. Tom stared at him with slight disgust.

“Just stay away from me.” Ryan’s face melted back into his signature scowl.

“Gladly,” he muttered, deliberately pushing past him.

* * *

 

Ryan felt perfectly content with never thinking about Tom again for the rest of the school year, especially considering they'd only existed in each other’s lives for a few unpleasant hours, although they already seemed destined to become life-long enemies. This annoyed Ryan considerably since he already had so many enemies that it was hard to keep track of them all. And it was kind of exhausting being hated all the time.

After another few hours and having successfully avoided anymore altercations with new students, it was finally home-time, and Ryan felt fairly certain that he was in the clear now until tomorrow. So he was more than a little disgruntled to see Tom standing next to Charlie outside the school gates, chatting and laughing with her, acting like they were old friends.

“What are you doing here?” Ryan interrogated, rather unreasonably he noted. Tom seemed to notice as well, and with a cocky grin, replied “what, on the pavement? Outside of school? Well, Ryan, you see I don't actually live here. I have to, you know, leave.” He laughed mockingly. And Ryan didn't like someone using his name so confidently if he hadn't actually introduced himself to them which, he suddenly realised, he hadn't.

“Good so why don't you, you know, _leave_  then?” Charlie was turning her head between to two, like she was watching a tennis match.

“You guys, know each other I suppose?” She said, as more of a statement than a question.

“We’ve met,” confirmed Tom, looking at Ryan like he very much regretted this fact. “You know him too?” He asked Charlie.

“Yeah, he’s my friend. He lives at Ashdene Ridge. The care home I was telling you about.” Ryan stared at her, in a way which suggested that he was both surprised and disapproved of the amount of information she was giving. Especially since it involved him.

“You live with him? Wow, poor you.” Tom said it jokey, just in case it offended Charlie, but the meaning was certainly there. Charlie laughed at Ryan tense features.

“Relax, he'd find out anyway. We were partnered in geography. He's coming over to work on a project.” It took all of Ryan’s willpower not to groan out loud and roll his eyes. This couldn't be anymore typical and Ryan outwardly showed his displeasure y walking silently ahead of them, once again refusing to share his music. He was sulking basically, with the support of a Muse album. However, as much as he ignored them, they ignored him even more. Charlie kept giggling at Tom’s stupid jokes.

When they neared the house, Ryan was very tempted to just walk straight past and keep walking for hours until he was sure Tom had gone home. But they'd definitely notice and Tom would probably guess it was his fault, which meant admitting that Tom was somehow getting to him. And Ryan would rather impale himself on the gates than do that. By now, his pride was all he had left.

So Ryan, without saying a word to anybody, let himself I side the house and went immediately upstairs to his room, half-slamming his door and glueing himself to to his bed for the next two hours watching re-run after re-run of _The Inbetweeners_  on his laptop. But despite having a similar, albeit very offensive, humour as the show, it didn't improve his mood much, and only when he heard the front door close at around five thirty was he able to slightly unclench his jaw.

He went downstairs after he saw Tom turn the corner at the end of the driveway, and caught Charlie by the door, waving in the same direction.

“He's already gone you know,” sneered Ryan. “Don't have to keep waving.” Charlie turned to him and frowned.

“What do you have against Tom?” She demanded, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“Eh? Nothing. Why would I have anything against him?” Ryan defended.

“Oh, um I dunno, maybe because you've been rude and moody ever since school ended and Tom walked home with us.”

“Well why couldn't you have gone over to his? Instead of blabbing about this place, and telling him _I_ live here as well. He didn't need to know that!”

“Okay, well for your information, he lives too far away. It was more convenient coming here. And why are you making such a big deal about this anyway?” In all honesty, Ryan didn't really know. Tom hadn't exactly ruined his life, he'd just said a few annoying comments, and mainly in retaliation to Ryan who was more in the wrong here. But there was just something about him, which Ryan couldn't quite put his finger on. He just knew he didn't want Tom to come round here and spend hours locked away in Charlie’s room.

“There's something about him. I don't like it,” concluded Ryan.

“Well I don't care what you think, because it's not up to you. And besides, I think he's very nice. And cute.”

“Sure I guess, if you like that kind of thing.”

“What kind of _thing_?” She airquoted his word.

“I dunno. He's a bit... full of himself. Thinks he's so funny.”

“Okay, you know you just described yourself.” Ryan cracked a grin.

“And you like that?” With a slight flourish he swung himself around the banister and replaced the grin with a wishful smile. “Well thanks, I'm flattered, but I'm afraid I only think of you as a friend, sweetheart.” There'd been too much tension between the two so far and Ryan needed to bring it back before that started properly arguing. He'd improved at recognising when he was being unreasonable. And he was being rather unreasonable at the moment.

“Oh shut up!” Charlie pushed him lightly in the chest so he'd swing backwards, but she was smiling again. “You're just jealous because he has better hair than you.” Ryan put his hands in the rail and rested his chin on them, pretending to look into the distance and mock sighed in defeat.

“Yes. That's what this is all about. Tomorrow we're battling to the death. With hair gel as our chosen weapon. Blood _will_  be spilt.”

Mike called them for dinner and the day’s events had all but evaporated from Ryan’s mind by the time he had entered the kitchen. He suddenly realised that he wasn't as angry as he initially thought because he didn't actually care enough about the things he was supposedly angry about. Thomas wouldn't bother him again. Ryan was sure of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> Oof okay I am so so sorry for the ridiculously long wait. I wasn't expecting to take this long, but then I also wasn't expecting this chapter to be this long. Most of the wait was just me procrastinating typing all this out cos I thought it’d be a bitch. But turns out... I was completely right, everything hurts and the English language doesn't even exist anymore. I've also been in mourning after the episode-that-shall-not-be-named and have spent my time listening to The Beatles because out of all my favourite bands they remind me the least of Ryan, and even that's questionable, (it's taken me a whole week to be able to listen to tøp again and I haven't even attempted to listen to Night Visions by Imagine Dragons cos too many songs on that album remind me of that fabulous Scouser bastard... seriously though have y'all HEARD Bleeding Out that shit has such a Ryan vIBE!?) I also wrote a a whole ass essay about How Ryan Staying Can Be Considered Canon and it is pretty damn flawless if I do say so myself so I’m good, we’re all good wE’RE ALL FINE WHY ARE YOU ALL S C R E A M I N G ??
> 
> ...
> 
> Alexa play I’m Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance...
> 
> Also, I can't get rid of the Author's Note below so just... ignore it. Or tell me how to get rid of it preferably, I've tried everything.


	4. Snap Out Of It

"Are you stalking me or something?" Demanded Thomas, before Ryan could even open his mouth to speak. It was one o'clock the next day, and Ryan had caught Thomas sitting alone in the music room, practicing chords on a guitar over which he was bent low. Ryan couldn't have been more annoyed to see him, and he felt this was crossing some sort of line. The music room was Ryan's place. He went there when the courtyard had been rendered useless if only a cigarette or two was sufficient enough to get him through the rest of the afternoon. Or simply if the weather was bad, and it usually was. The music room was the only quiet place left in the school, when a lesson wasn't being held, except perhaps the library. But Ryan wasn't keen on the library. It was too open and communal, equipped with harsh overhead lighting. The music room was nice; quiet and private. And Ryan liked messing around with the various instruments.

But now the privacy had apparently been somewhat invaded, and no less by the boy Ryan was most keen to avoid.

Thomas hadn't looked up from the guitar before he accused Ryan of stalking, which begged the question of how he knew who was in the doorway. Unless he wasn't expecting Ryan at all and really did have a stalker. But since he'd only been here a day, Ryan found this ridiculously unlikely and frankly, unfair if it were true. He had only just opened the door when he was bluntly interrupted, and he had planned on immediately evicting Thomas. But the unexplained confidence that Ryan was beginning to grow accustomed to, rendered him momentarily silent.

"Don't flatter yourself," he regained his composure quite quickly, and was correct in assuming that Thomas had in fact been referring to him, judging by the lack of response to his voice. "You're the one who's been following me around ever since you arrived. This is my place. And that's my guitar." It wasn't his, he didn't have a guitar. But he used that one so often that he felt rather protective over it. Thomas gave a short, contemptuous snort.

"I'm pretty sure both belong to the school. And therefore, you know, anyone can use them." He said this slowly, like Ryan was in fact the new kid and needed to be taught basic protocol. And his use of the phrase 'you know' was infuriatingly patronising. "Unless you're somehow above the rules, King Ryan." It was Ryan's turn to offer a short laugh of contempt.

"Weak insult," he advised, which Thomas seemed to be aware of; his only response being a short exhale of breath through his nose and the sides of his mouth upturned ever so slightly.

"Does this mean we're enemies, then?" He continued.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, we keep bumping into each other, and on TV and in books and shit, you always bump into your enemies no matter what."

"Really? I thought it was the opposite. You always bump into the person you eventually get together with." Ryan mentally kicked himself. He had no idea why he'd said this and despite a lack of reaction to the comment, he very much regretted it. It made him sound like he was sort of, suggesting something. Exactly what he was suggesting he wasn't too sure.

"No, it's enemies too. And by the end they either fight to the death or like, get married or something." Had Thomas meant to say that as well? Ryan was desperate to fight against the conversation they were apparently having, and he no longer really cared who left the room as long as it was one of them. And soon. But something made him stay, and before he knew it he'd taken a seat on the creaky piano stool opposite Thomas.

"I'm not sure what films you're watching but I'm pretty sure the enemies don't end up marrying each other. Either that or I'm remembering Harry Potter very very wrong." Tom failed to hide a slight smile.

"I dunno, maybe I'm thinking of fanfictions." Ryan had no idea what to make of this boy. On the one hand, everything he said seemed to be tainted with irony or sarcasm, and on the other hand, it was the exact same way Ryan spoke.

It was also getting harder and harder to deny that Thomas was very good-looking. Charlie was right. His hair was great.

Silence settled around the room so the noises outside were accentuated. Shouts from the playground filtered through the windows, mostly from the year 7s who had yet to outgrow their imaginations and were concocting wild games from the top of the monkey bars. Ryan watched Tom pluck out a few notes, making a light sound with no real discernible tune.

"Can you even play that?" Asked Ryan, now with only a hint of sneer left in his voice.

"No, not really. But everyone knows the cool kids are always the ones who mysteriously play guitar by themselves."

"Seriously, what TV are you watching?" Thomas offered a slight chuckle.

"It got you in the room didn't it?"

"Only to tell you to get out. A statement which, by the way, still stands."

"Eh, details." For once in his life, Ryan was unable to read the room; to read the mood between him and this boy. He thought there was still some tension, somewhere. There must have been, you don't keep enemies for just a day, right? _Harry Potter_ would have been a much shorter series if that were true. _Star Wars_ would have started in the seventies and ended in the seventies. _Tom and Jerry_ would only have one episode, and... Ryan couldn't think of any more examples. But Thomas and Ryan were talking to each other, calmly and normally. And though it felt kind of detached and perhaps a little forced, there were no insults being hurled at one another like yesterday.

Ryan felt for sure he'd screw it up somehow.

And a part of him really wanted to. Probably the same part which had just noticed a single curl on Thomas's head break loose from the rest and flop over his eyebrow, brushing his eyelid so Tom had to keep flicking it away, a single tiny jerk of his head. He was still focused hard on the guitar. His forehead was lightly wrinkled in concentration and his tongue made occasional appearances out of the side of his mouth. It was clear that he was completely inexperienced with the instrument resting across his knees, but for some reason there was a strong air of determination surrounding him; he hadn't looked up at Ryan once.

Ryan involuntarily shook his head, forcing his eyes to look out of the window. Why was he noticing all these tiny details? It was weird and pathetic. He _felt_ weird and pathetic.

'Why aren't you admitting to yourself that you're attracted to him?' Said a voice in his head, one which was attempting to drown out the screams of the part which wanted him to mess everything up.

'Because I'm not. I hate him,' he replied to himself.

'Oh come off it! You've known him for a day. You got slightly annoyed at him and you were worse. He may hate you but you don't hate him.'

'Yeah well, I don't like him like that either.'

'But he is kinda hot.' Ryan stood up so abruptly that Thomas finally broke eye contact with the guitar strings.

"You... alright?" He queried.

"You should give that up." The coldness returned once more to Ryan's voice as he jerked his head towards the guitar. The other part won. "You're shit."

He immediately exited the room, but not before catching the hurt look which crossed Thomas's face fore a mere moment before he probably realised that, as enemies, he was not supposed to care what Ryan thought, and the hurt turned to vague amusement.

Ryan stopped in the hallway, just outside the locker rooms facing the abandoned gym. He leaned against the wall and sighed. His hand found his fringe and he roughly pushed it away from his face. Was he utterly incapable of conducting a conversation with someone and not ruin it completely? He wasn't _trying_ to get on Tom's good side. He wasn't _trying_ to make friends. But he was doing himself no favours giving Tom a hard time, and school was already too much of an effort as it was.

The right thing to do was go back and apologise. However, when you were Ryan, the right thing to do often changed its definition, and subtly became the right thing to do for him. And in this case, the right thing for Ryan to do was conserve his pride and walk away without a care. It wasn't his problem, and he wasn't invested enough to do anything about it.

* * *

 

At the end of the day, when the noise levels had reached their peak due to kids rushing to start the weekend, Ryan ducked to the side of the school to avoid the first wave of students. If Thomas was with Charlie again then they'd probably go on ahead, so Ryan wasn't in any kind of rush. And just to be in the safe side, he waited for the second, slightly later, lot of students to dive out the front doors. They were the older ones, and Ryan saw a few of the others, Jody and Tyler as usual walking together, Alex with Finn, who had also been waiting. Ryan was keen to avoid them the most.

Once it had all calmed down, Ryan found it safe to step out and walk alone to the gates. When he neared the entrance he nearly stopped short and, once again, audibly showing his annoyance was becoming increasingly difficult. Charlie and Thomas were still there, not showing any sign that they had just had ten minutes of their life wasted.

"There you are!" Smiled Charlie when she spotted him coming towards them. "What took you so long?" Ryan glared at her. 'You know exactly where I was. Why are you pointing it out?' He wanted to say, but instead he settled for, "why didn't you just go on ahead?"

"I'm not ditching you. That wouldn't be fair." Her natural kindness was sometimes more than Ryan could handle, and his only response was to get defensive.

"Well thanks for your pity but I'm alright," he said, with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

"Oh get over yourself, I'm just being nice. I won't bother next time." During this exchange, Thomas seemed quite eager to leave. He kept glancing up the street and looking like he wanted to interrupt. If Ryan had cared in any way, he would've understood and appreciated that Thomas had waited patiently for him just because Charlie had wanted to, and the two of them bickering together probably made him feel rather uncomfortable. But Ryan _didn't_ care, he just felt slightly irritated, and panicky. But that was normal.

He still walked home with them, not wanting to appear as sulky as yesterday, which he imagined must have made him look stupidly childish. Instead, he kept his head held high, entirely preoccupied with his IPod. Thomas ignored him completely.

During their short walk back, Ryan decided he wouldn't stay in the house while Tom was there this time. He walked in with them and ascended swiftly to his bedroom, but only to deposit his school bag and pick up his own secret pack of cigarettes which he stashed underneath a loose floorboard at the corner of his room, where the carpet had come slightly loose at the edges. It was a very small hiding place and hard to access, so Ryan only used it when necessary, with small items that he wouldn't want anyone to find; cigarettes, his lighter, cash and a spare mobile phone. It was very unlikely that anyone would find these things. The floorboard was basically impossible to spot, and rather uninteresting anyway to someone who wasn't specifically looking. He didn't take his cigarettes to school for obvious fear of getting caught. Paying a few extra quid for someone else's was worth it if it meant not putting up with Mike after a concerned phone call from school one day, giving the man another reason to view Ryan as nothing but a lost cause.

Ryan had to wait for the voices downstairs to disperse before he could make his escape. Everyone was interested in Thomas, especially the girls. Ryan had to endure an hour of giggling at dinner yesterday, incessant questions being shot at Charlie, like pink bullets in Ryan's opinion. Floss enthusiastically conducted various choruses of 'Charlie and Thomas sittin' in a tree' and Candi-Rose was... Well she was pure hell, and utterly in her element.

The boys simply thought Thomas was cool. Fist-bumps and head-nods were exchanged and questions of 'which football team do you support?' And 'got any cool video games?' were asked. Mike of course was there to intimidate and remind Charlie of the rules. "No closed doors," he warned in a mock stern voice, to eye rolls and semi-embarrassed replies of "I know!" Ryan smirked at the thought that if he ever brought a boy home these rules wouldn't automatically apply, or at least, they wouldn't be enforced. Because the assumption that Ryan would be anything more than a friend to said boy just wouldn't be a registering factor.

As he listened absentmindedly to all these voices and exchanges, he couldn't help but think it all incredibly staged. Everyone was acting how they were supposed to act, as if they were in some kind of TV show. They all had their parts, and their scripts, and they all followed them to a T. Ryan on the other hand had thrown away his script long ago. Refused to take part in the fakeness and the censorship. That's probably why they all hated him. He ruined their fun and caused nothing but chaos.

Ryan shook himself and looked up. He'd been standing in his doorway for full minutes, focusing solely on a single spot on the hallway carpet. He was very nearly caught by Thomas and Charlie coming up the stairs, but at the last moment he silently shut his door and pressed himself against it, listening. Their voices decreased as they walked past and then became muffled as they entered Charlie's room. Ryan waited for a second, collected his skateboard from beside the cupboard and opened the door, sneaking back downstairs.

He made sure Mike was occupied, searching through filing cabinets in the office, his back to the window. It was unlikely he'd notice Ryan's absence, or care, but if he saw Ryan trying to leave he would probably jump to conclusions and interrogate him, maybe even forbid him from going. Even if Ryan was just going to the skatepark, Mike would no doubt assume he was lying. The guy just did not trust him. So Ryan was forced to make himself as invisible as possible, to stop Mike from looking at him like he was a defect in the group of normal and willing-to-work-together care kids that he was used to.

Ryan two-stepped down the stairs, eyes on Mike, as he ducked out the front door.

The breeze was cool on his face as he stepped out, breathing in the late afternoon air. Spring was a little under a month away but already there was an ever so slight appearance here and there. Whenever the Sun peaked out from behind the clouds it felt warm on Ryan's skin and the wind wasn't quite so sharp and bitter. For someone who basically lived in his bedroom, Ryan always felt quite peaceful outside. But then he realised that he was only peaceful outside when there was no one else around him. So he figured that it didn't matter where he was, as long as he was alone. That's when he felt most calm.

So perhaps the skatepark on a Friday afternoon probably wasn't the best place to go when human beings in general set you on edge. But Ryan knew all the quiet places. In the corner of the park near the large area of woods, were the more undesirable ramps. These held little challenge for skaters and had grown vaguely rusty and mossy over the years from disuse, making them even more unwelcome. Next to it was one of those metal containers that held all the electrics. Ryan didn't know what they were called, but it was heavily graffitied and if he leant against the back, he'd be hidden from view, and in turn he'd only have to look at the isolated forest.

Ryan sat with his knees up near his chest and placed his skateboard down next to him, ready in case he felt like perfecting any tricks when the park filtered out a bit. He took out his cigarette pack and shook one out, fumbling around a little with the lighter. He cupped his hands around his mouth to protect the sparks from blowing out and blew the smoke in front of him. The wind carried it aside and it wasn't long before the thin grey coils served as the focus point for his thoughts. They blurred the trees in front of him but they were clear in his mind's eye.

Ryan had never had a boyfriend before. It wasn't at all surprising, since he had never been comfortable enough to even come out, let alone have a relationship. But that didn't mean he'd had no experience with boys. He hadn't met them at school, of course. He went to great lengths to hide himself from every student, straight or otherwise. Instead, he found boys in other places, usually here at the skatepark, which was probably why his mind had started to wander in this direction. Sometimes he found them online. Not on a dating website or anything, Ryan believed them to be beneath his dignity. Besides, he was fifteen. He wasn't exactly desperate. But he talked to them in chat rooms, on an online game perhaps, where you could speak to people in your surrounding area through the headphones. And then they'd meet up sometimes, the ones who were in a similar situation to Ryan.

He was very aware of the dangers, Ryan wasn't stupid. He didn't meet them in secluded areas and he dialled 999 on his phone and kept his thumb poised over the call button while he waited. So far, nothing bad had happened. Ryan and whichever boy he'd met up with would come here, to the place where Ryan was sitting. The metal box was far enough away from the abandoned ramps so even if a rare straggler did somehow stray this far, it was still hard to notice them if you weren't looking. Beyond the box, there was no path or open area and the trees were quite dense around here. People didn't generally wander through.

Ryan would sit next to the boy, share his lighter if the guy fancied a smoke, and it wasn't long before they were making out. It was rushed and in no way romantic. Ryan didn't want it to be. He simply enjoyed the freedom it gave him. He'd spent the whole day pretending to be someone he wasn't, and these rare afternoons meant he could just forget about all that. Forget about school and the comments he'd had to endure over the years. Forget about pretending to the other guys that he found Abby or Kelly or Rebecca or whomever 'hot'. Forget about all the girls he'd kissed just to hide himself even more, and hated every moment of it.

It didn't last too long. They tired of kissing after a few minutes and Ryan refused to let it go any further. They would never have let it go _too_  far, of course, not where they were situated. They were hidden, yes, but they were still outside. It would be completely wrong. But there were other things in between, hands placed on different parts of the other's torso. But Ryan was uncomfortable with people touching him in general, even if it was nothing more than a friendly pat on the shoulder. He didn't make a big deal out of it, he didn't protest or flinch away. He had when he was much younger and hadn't quite realised that flinching away from someone's touch was a cause for stares and questions, but Ryan had eventually perfected the art of tolerance. However, if the touching was no longer innocent, then Ryan would start to protest.

It made him feel rather pathetic. He was a teenage boy, after all. What teenage boy wasn't obsessed with anything sexual? He'd spent enough time around his male classmates to know that there certainly weren't many. In fact, there was only one. Him.

He had sometimes hoped that perhaps he just hadn't found the right person yet. The boys he were snogging were strangers at the end of the day. Maybe his classmates didn't care about that fact, but Ryan was too private a person to want to go far with a stranger. He was waiting, basically, until he left the close-minded prison cell of school, and was free to properly meet a boy, to get to know him, maybe even fall in love with him. Then hopefully all his fears of any mild violation would simply disappear, or at least decrease considerably.

Sometimes he'd keep in contact with a few of the boys. Some of them were pretty cool, and he got along with them well enough. It didn't hurt to have an extra number on his phone or an extra player on his team during some online survival game. He even met up with one or two of them again, and it wasn't long before they started suggesting that they go back to theirs, or his. Whichever was more convenient. But Ryan never agreed. He never went back to theirs, and he'd never let them come back to his. He just didn't want to, he wasn't ready, he wasn't comfortable. They understood, right? He hated revealing his vulnerabilities around them, but he didn't have much of a choice. Most of them understood, they backed off and refrained from pushing him too far. A few were a little annoyed, and tried to convince him that he was worried about nothing, and being somewhat unreasonable in their opinion. One was even verging on force, which concerned Ryan quite a lot. He didn't keep in contact with those guys.

Eventually they all got tired of his stubbornness, and drifted away when they realised they'd get nothing more than a few make-out sessions in the abandoned part of the skatepark.

It didn't bother Ryan much. Yes, it made him feel a bit weedy, but so what? The whole point of these meet-ups with these boys was to allow Ryan to let go of his fears for a few minutes, and pretend to himself that he was comfortable with who he was. Why should he have to make himself feel awkward and uneasy just so one of these guys could get a cheap fuck out of him? Sometimes they could be as bad as his straight classmates, and Ryan had no intension of getting involved with his straight classmates.

The smoke in front of his eyes had started to get thinner. Ryan's cigarette had almost gone out completely, so he took one last drag and threw it next to his shoe to stamp on. He considered lighting another one, but the the short days of winter were creeping up on them, and the Sun was very low in the sky, casting a deep orange glow on the trees in front. It was growing very chilly and Ryan was starting to shiver. But he'd only left the house about half an hour ago, maybe a little longer. And Thomas had stayed for over an hour yesterday. So Ryan had some time to kill.

He picked up his skateboard and walked over to the abandoned ramps. Unchallenging, rusty and sad-looking.

Ryan placed his board down and stood at the top of one, the one most covered in moss and rust and graffiti. The corners of his mouth upturned ever so slightly. He decided that they were, in fact, perfect.

 

 

 


	5. No Way Out

A few days passed. The weather grew a little nicer and Ryan had started to grow accustomed to the new routine that was beginning to form; walking home with Charlie and Thomas, unfortunately no longer able to share his music with her unless she specifically requested a song. He knew it was only for another week, just until they had finished whatever project they were working on, but to Ryan's dismay they had started to strike up an actual friendship, so Ryan found it unlikely that this was the last time he'd be forced to spend time with Thomas. However, his one comfort was that Thomas didn't live down the same route as them, so soon they wouldn't have to walk home together anymore, and since that was the most Ryan saw of him, he didn't think it was necessary to get on his good terms. Charlie on the other hand seemed to thoroughly disagree, and appeared to consider finding some common ground between the two her life's work. She asked them hundreds of questions, even though she already knew most of Ryan's answers.

"What's your favourite film, Thomas?" She'd say. "What's yours, Ryan? Do you play video games, Thomas? What are your favourites? Ryan _loves_ video games." And on and on it went, until it took all of Ryan's willpower not to deliberately shove his earphones in his ears and turn the music up so loud that even they'd be able to hear it. If it made him deaf it'd probably be worth it. Thomas didn't seem to mind though and while Ryan answered her begrudgingly through gritted teeth, Thomas answered her easily enough, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners to show his amusement. But Ryan was highly unappreciative of her meddling, especially when she got so caught up in herself that she started talking about Ryan as if he wasn't even there.

"Ryan isn't much of a reader," she announced to them once when Thomas mentioned some books he'd enjoyed. Ryan had forgotten that he'd been trying to find a place to read when they first met. He'd forgotten that he was a complete nerd. But he did wonder whether Thomas ended up finding a good place to sit in peace, and he wondered where it was.

"But he has one or two which he gets obsessed with. They're all he'll read."

"That's not true." It kind of was, but Ryan was getting defensive now. "And who asked you to write my bloody biography anyway?" He snapped.

"If I did it would be all you'd read." Ryan and Thomas snorted at the same time. Ryan in contempt and Thomas with genuine humour. Charlie smiled smugly as the two shared a look. She was wrong though, for once. If Ryan had a book written about his life he'd take much more pleasure in burning it than reading it.

Once they got back, Ryan had to make the decision on whether to close himself off in his bedroom and stream shows on his laptop, or sneak out to the skatepark for a practice on the ramps and a smoking break. Usually he opted for remaining in his room, where he forcefully told himself that he was staying inside simply because he wasn't up to going out today, that he was much more content with lying on his bed and watching _Rick & Morty_. And he outright refused to accept the ever so slight notion which kept popping into his head now and again that perhaps he was hoping to run into Thomas and strike up another conversation with him, alone. Like the one they'd had in the music room, which Ryan had found himself thinking about a lot lately, ever since it had happened, and as usual he had no idea why.

Or maybe he did know, he just didn't want to admit to himself what the real reason was. He didn't want to.

Had Ryan ever had a crush before? He supposed it depended on how you defined it. He'd had his fair share of celebrity crushes, of course. He considered his first crush to be on Jeremy Sumpter when Ryan was ten. He wasn't fully aware of the true extent of his fascination with the actor, but the posters taped to his wall of films- some of which he hadn't even seen before- was kind of a giveaway. As he got older, his crushes on male celebrities became much less subtle, and by this time he realised that they were, in fact, proper crushes. And he couldn't help watching the music video for _Girls/Girls/Boys_ more times than was necessarily okay. But an actual crush on an actual person? Maybe. He was unsure since whenever he felt something more than just a quiet disdain towards a person, he repressed it immediately. He knew that nothing good could come off it, and by the end only he would be hurt. And he wasn't prepared for that. Ryan just needed to accept the fact that while he was here, in this school, in this town, in this situation, he would always be faced with an invisible barrier between him and the boys he couldn't help falling for. So in the meantime he had to find ways to stop falling for them. If a good-looking boy in his class smiled at him, Ryan saw it as a smirk used to mock him. If someone brushed against him accidentally Ryan believed it to be an act of mild aggression. It got to a point where Ryan automatically saw everyone as a threat or an enemy, even if he hadn't been briefly attracted to them at some point, even if they were a girl, even if they were a stranger. Everyone was against him, and Ryan constantly felt like he had to fight.

But Thomas was already against him. Thomas actually fought back. Did that make him different? Was he harder to ignore because Ryan didn't have to pretend to see him as something else? That would be beyond typical if the only guys he allowed himself to take an interest in were the ones who already hated him.

But Ryan had started to notice, more so than before, that despite his tactless and rude exit the other day, their music-room-conversation as he referred to it, had certainly brought about a change between their attitudes towards to each other. They still hardly said a word, nor even smiled at one another, but there was a slight detached amusement that saved the silences from being too awkward, and at one point, completely out of the blue and catching Ryan off-guard, Thomas came into his room and looked around.

"The hell are you doing in here?" Demanded Ryan once he'd gotten over the initial surprise of seeing Thomas in his doorway.

"Charlie went downstairs for a drink. Thought I'd explore," he replied, as if this was a completely normal thing to do.

"Well this isn't a zoo and I don't want you in here, so piss off."

"You like skating, then?" Thomas continued, ignoring Ryan's request. "I never got the hang of it myself. Are you any good?" Ryan stared at him without a word. What was this kid _on_? And why the fuck was he here?

"No offence but unless Charlie's dying or something there's no reason for you to be in here." Ryan hoped Thomas would get the hint and leave so he turned back towards his phone and was about to put his earphones in when-

"Is there anything going on between you and Charlie?" Ryan paused and looked up. Was Thomas actually asking what Ryan thought he was asking?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're not like, together... are you?" Ryan nearly laughed out loud, and in fact he couldn't help but let out a slight chuckle.

"No. We're not."

"So, she's single?" It was obvious by this point that Thomas was making sure it was alright for him to ask her out. And Ryan realised that he was in quite a good position here. He thought of Alex for a second, who also clearly had a thing for Charlie, and the idea of seeing the jealous look on his face was an all too good an opportunity to miss. But then again, if Charlie was with Thomas, Ryan would find himself on the receiving end of a pretty shit deal. He'd have to spend more time with Thomas, and Charlie would spend less time with him. He didn't much like the sound of that arrangement.

"No, she's with Alex," Ryan lied, thinking that Alex owed him one. Although seeing the crestfallen look on Thomas's face was definitely a bonus.

Then the look of disappointment turned into a look of slight suspicion.

"How do I know you're not lying?" Asked Thomas. Ryan nearly scowled at him, wondering how he'd caught on so quickly, although the likeliness that Thomas had forgotten Ryan's attempt at sending him to the other end of the school the other day was pretty slim. So Ryan did his best impression of looking mildly hurt.

"Now Thomas, when have I ever done that?" He crooned sweetly. Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. I'll ask her myself." And he finally walked out. Ryan glared at the closed door, feeling like he'd ended up more disappointed than Thomas, which had not been part of the plan. But... wait. Disappointment? That wasn't right. Ryan's range of emotions usually just went from anger to nothing. Why was he disappointed all of a sudden? He supposed it was because if Charlie agreed to date Thomas, the shitty deal would be set in stone, and surely that meant that she would deem their friendship to be less important than her relationship. And he'd spent quite a good deal of his time making sure that Charlie saw him as something more than just an evil bastard. He didn't want that all to suddenly be rendered useless just because Thomas couldn't keep it in his damn pants. He also couldn't help but be rather overprotective. After all, guys couldn't be trusted, and if Ryan had even the slightest feeling that Charlie was being messed around by someone, their funeral would be held the following afternoon. It was simply the brotherly instinct that still flowed through him. But that wouldn't make him disappointed, just wary.

The more Ryan thought about it, the more he realised that the loss of his old friendship with Charlie wasn't the only reason for his disappointment. But what else was there? He stared at his ceiling for a minute, pondering. Then turned over and groaned into his pillow as it hit him. The notion. He was disappointed because Thomas had just confirmed the inevitable. That he was straight. And so any chance that Ryan thought he might've had, even if it was at the moment only on a subconscious level, had been ruined.

Ryan raised his head. What the hell was wrong with him? This whole Thomas thing was completely screwed up and it just made him annoyed at himself, when he _should_ be annoyed at stupid Thomas. It wasn't worth it. The sooner he stopped fucking thinking about it the better in his opinion.

Ryan turned back around and crossed his arms against his chest, untangling them only to press shuffle on his iPod. He glared at the wall opposite as the opening notes of 'William It Was Really Nothing' by The Smiths filtered into his ears.

* * *

 

The Thomas thing didn't bother him for long. Maybe it would have ordinarily but his mood had started to deteriorate and when that happened he lost focus of his daily problems, both deliberately and involuntarily. He'd always found it weird, the "process" as he saw it. It's not like he started out happy and ended up sad. For starters, Ryan wasn't usually happy. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he was. He'd enjoyed a few things here and there, or he'd found something to be quite funny, but that was fake happiness in his opinion. Real happiness was a superior emotion which Ryan had yet to achieve. He wasn't sure whether the depression was solely to blame for this, or if life just simply didn't interest him enough.

So instead of feeling happy, or even just content, Ryan spent a lot of his time in a kind of weird, calm mood. Though maybe calm wasn't the right word to use, he wasn't exactly a calm person after all. But when he was like this he sort of just, wandered through life. Any inconveniences he ran into during the day were simply that. Inconveniences. He sorted them out quickly enough and continued on in a hazy daydream. And it didn't bother him too much. The nights were still bad. But they were separate from the day. As he lay awake at 2am, wondering how it was possible that only he could hear the screams coming from the part of his brain that was so angry with him that it regularly threatened death, his one small comfort was that when he woke up, the night before would feel more like a blurred nightmare, and he was allowed to have a break.

But sometimes it didn't work like that. It was completely unpredictable. He knew that some people had bad days, or bad episodes. And some people experienced it permanently. But Ryan had a little bit of both, which he thought was fucking fantastic. It was like one month he'd be in that melancholy state where only the nights were a struggle and have bad days here and there. And then the next month, there could be no foreseeable end to the bad episodes. Each day was a write off from the start.

He had to leave his bedroom of course, so no one would hassle him about it. It was a struggle, one of the hardest things Ryan had to do, but he was so desperate to stay unnoticed and to avoid questions and look and pity on the adults' faces, curiosity and bewilderment on the kids' that he found a way. Even if it meant purposefully falling out of bed. The entire day was then spent in dark daze. His mind had clocked off from the outside world and turned inward. The noises surrounding Ryan failed to penetrate, and all he could hear were the abusive screams of his personified illness, which had followed him from his darkened room in the early hours of the morning, to the light bright living room downstairs. There was simply no escape.

He dreaded those months, and the fact that they were entirely out of his control scared him no end. What happened to him during everyday life hardly played a part. The bad months could have been the best months had Ryan been in the right state of mind. School was working out, his grades were improving even more, a guy at the skatepark had taken an interest in him. But Ryan didn't care. It didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered to him.

But then the good months would eventually roll around, and they could turn out to be pretty shit. He failed an exam because he'd stayed up till an ungodly hour on his laptop and was so tired that day that he forgot to show his working out on the algebra test, even though he found the whole thing ridiculously easy. Or, he fell out with Charlie over something that shouldn't have caused an argument in the first place, but it got so out of hand that they refused to speak to each other for a week, much to the amusement of the other residents. Or, he was reminded how terrible school was when a kid who was actually out (whether by choice or not Ryan wasn't sure. He couldn't imagine ever wanting these people to know) got surrounded by a fierce-looking group of guys in the hall and were as violent and intimidating towards him as they could possibly get away with, and without a teacher in sight, it was quite a lot. They'd get right up in his face and hiss indistinguishable but undoubtedly unpleasant things in his ear, while the boys at the back of the group settled for throwing scrunched up pieces of paper at him. By the time the teachers had noticed and, passing it off as nothing more than students acting childish and disruptive, broken up the gathering of teenagers, none of whom got into much trouble, the damage had already been done, to both the boy and Ryan. Watching the small congregation, it just pushed Ryan so far back into the closet that he was convinced he'd never find a way out.

And yet the next day he woke up fine, and was out of bed no trouble. No fucking trouble at all.

Depression just didn't care.

* * *

 

Charlie had started to notice Ryan's moodiness. She was the only one who ever did notice. A part of him was quite grateful that she seemed to take an interest, but another part of him thought it was one person too many.

She knocked on his door after lunch. It was Saturday and Ryan had hardly left his room all day, so she was probably just going to ask him why he wasn't present at the dining table.

"Why weren't you at lunch?" She demanded, hands on hips. He was right then. Ryan glanced up at her, or down since he was lying on his back with his head on his pillow. Charlie had an expectant look on her face.

"You noticed then?" He replied, a little sarcastically. Nearly everything he said nowadays had some level of sarcasm to it.

"You said you'd stop skipping meals."

"Didn't I also say I'd stop going out at night? You know you probably shouldn't trust anything I say." Charlie rolled her eyes at him.

"You're in that mood again."

"What mood?"

"The weird calm-before-the-depressive-episode mood."

"That's totally not a thing." It was a thing. He knew it was a thing. He was just surprised that she knew it was a thing. But he approved of the name she'd given it.

"Yes it is. You go all quiet and stay in your room, more so than usual," she added. "And you lie on the carpet and listen to that playlist... what's it called again?"

"The Great Depression," he muttered, secretly already booting it up and getting ready to press shuffle. It mainly consisted of songs by Twenty Øne Piløts, The Smiths, and Linkin Park.

"Exactly."

"Whatever. Still not true... but you're in my spot." Ryan slid off his bed and lay spread eagled in front of her, untangling his earphones. She nudged his side with her foot.

"You're a mess," she said. Ryan ignored her. He had unsuccessfully untangled the wires, given up, and put the buds in his ears anyway, the mess of wires balancing on his chest. But Charlie still hadn't left.

"I haven't finished with you yet." Ryan sighed and took his earphones out, closing his eyes lazily.

"Hurry up then."

"Why did you tell Thomas I was with Alex?" Shit. Ryan opened his eyes and stared at her. Thomas must have said something. Idiot couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Uh..." he wasn't entirely sure how to answer. Whatever he said would probably reflect badly on him.

"He asked if you were single."

"And you told him I was with _Alex._ "

"Well... you see he was going to ask you out, I think."

"So? I decide what to tell him. Not you. And I can't believe you told him I was with Alex!"

"What's the big deal? I thought you liked Alex. I was doing you a favour." Charlie looked at him incredulously, her mouth slightly open as if she couldn't believe that he was trying to even defend himself.

"Wow. You are _un_ believable." She said. Ryan tried to read her face. She certainly looked angry. This conversation was unlikely to end well, and Ryan was already exhausted.

"Look, I wasn't really thinking. I..." he'd dug himself into a pretty deep hole already, so he didn't have much to lose by admitting the reason that he lied to Thomas. Not _the_ reason. Just the reason. And hopefully get this argument over and done with.

"I didn't want him to ask you out," he said quietly. Charlie's expression hardened even more. For someone with such a naturally sweet disposition, she could be quite intimidating sometimes.

"That _really_ wasn't your decision."

"I know but-"

"Do you know how awkward it was to say no to him? After explaining that I actually was single and then still having to reject him. He thinks we're both crazy, especially you luckily-" but Ryan didn't really listen to the last part.

"Wait, you said no?" Charlie shot daggers at him.

"Yes, Ryan. I said no. Don't you _dare_  look so smug about it. It had nothing to do with you. You made it worse."

"But you still said no."

"You're not taking this seriously."

"Why did you say no?" Charlie crossed her arms and didn't reply. She was pissed at him for trying to change the subject. Ryan took no notice. "Is it actually because you like Alex?" He always thought it was one-sided. That Alex liked Charlie but she wasn't too bothered. He only mentioned it sometimes to tease her.

"No it's not that. I mean- I don't think so." Ryan continued to look at her. He tried to appear understanding but he was just glad that he'd swerved the conversation away from himself somewhat, and was eager to keep her distracted.

"So how come you rejected Thomas?" He asked, genuinely interested.

"I don't know. He's not really my type I suppose."

"But you seemed to get on well with him."

"And? I get on well with you. Sometimes. For some weird reason. And I wouldn't want to date you."

"Ah Charlie, you do flatter me." Charlie rolled her eyes again but the beginning of a smile was playing on her lips.

"He's more your type if I'm honest." Ryan's eyes, which were starting to close again, flew open and he sat bolt upright. He regretted such a dramatic reaction but he was too shocked to care at first.

"What do you mean?" He demanded seriously, trying to keep his voice level. Did Charlie-? But how did she-? She didn't know that he was gay. He hadn't even told _her._ There was no way she could-. But she was starting to laugh now.

"Calm down, your face! I was kidding! Why d'you react like that?" Ryan fought hard not to breathe a sigh of relief. She didn't know. She was just joking.

"That wasn't funny," he grumbled. And what _did_ she mean that Thomas was more his type? That was a ridiculous thing to say, and if it were true then he must have had a pretty rubbish taste in guys.

"It kinda was. And you gotta admit, you two bicker like a married couple sometimes. It's quite fun to watch." Ryan scowled at her. He disapproved very much with how Charlie apparently viewed them. Although a tiny, tiny flicker of hope ignited in his chest before abruptly fizzling out. Why did Ryan care if he and Thomas were compatible? He didn't _like_ Thomas for God's sake. And it would be pointless anyway. Thomas's attempt at asking Charlie out was proof of that. Ryan was being ridiculous. He put his earphones back in and closed his eyes, leaning back onto the carpet.

"You can leave now," he instructed at Charlie. She scoffed at him.

"Stop being so controlling. I will leave if _I_ want to." She paused for a second. "I'm leaving."

"A'ight."

"Act sad about it. Because it's my decision not yours."

"Is this really how you're going to settle all our arguments?"

"Just do it," she sighed.

"Fine." Ryan put on his best deadpan voice. "Please don't leave. I'm begging you. I'll be ever so upset." He stared at her defiantly for added effect. Charlie, continuing the act, put a hand to her forehead and sighed dramatically.

"And yet I must. This is my choice, Ryan. I'm sorry." Ryan dropped the deadpan voice and followed her dramatics, looking at her desperately with his fist to his chest.

"How could you?" He whisper-shouted. "You've ripped this household apart with your strong and independent mind."

"I can stay here not a moment longer. You are simply too stifling. Farewell, Sir Loser." She strutted out, head held high. Leaving Ryan grinning at the doorway.

Then a moment passed and his grin faltered, and disappeared. The conversation should have left him content for much longer. But it never worked like that.

Depression just didn't care.

* * *

 

The next day was Sunday, so Ryan didn't have to worry about school. No one would really expect him to leave his room at all and Charlie would make an excuse for him at meal times. She'd told him a while ago that she'd cover for him for a maximum of two days, because that's usually how long his episodes lasted, the worst part of them anyway, unless of course it was a bad month. By day three Ryan would have had to have sorted himself out because there were only so many excuses Charlie could give.

Their arguing was always short but fierce, and no matter how stubborn they both were they didn't hold grudges against each other for too long, and they usually argued about silly stuff anyway, like who had rights to the TV, or who'd survive longer in the Hunger Games (Ryan was adamant that not only would he survive in the Hunger Games but that he'd actually win. "Only because you wouldn't think twice about killing everyone, you monster.," Charlie had said defiantly, but she couldn't really argue with him. He'd outlined some seemingly foolproof tactics). But when it came to his depression, their arguments were serious, drawn-out and lasting. Ryan felt that Charlie wasn't listening to him properly, and wasn't understanding him at all. Charlie said that she was trying her best to understand, but that he was making the whole thing unnecessarily difficult for the both of them. Ryan hated these arguments because once again it felt like his depression was winning. The illness was infamous for isolating its host from any friends and family that they had. Ryan hadn't had to worry much about that before, not having any friends to lose in the first place, and his only family was Chloe, whom he wasn't that close with anyway. But somewhere along the line, he'd let his guard down. Charlie had somehow entered his dark little circle of self-centredness which he'd carefully constructed for himself and now he had to worry about her.

"I can't keep making excuses for you, they're going to start getting suspicious. Besides, I'm sick of spending my whole day trying to come up with believable cover stories." As soon as she said it she realised how bad it sounded and put her hand over mouth, waiting nervously for his reaction.

"Well I'm so sorry to have caused you any inconvenience. I didn't realise you were having such a hard time. I guess _I_ was just sick of being so bored of my life and waking up so drained and exhausted that I actually have to _get_ someone to help me from getting in trouble for not physically being able to get out of bed. How selfish of me. You must think I'm incredibly lazy." He hadn't meant to say so much but he needed Charlie to once and for all understand where he was coming from. He said each line slowly, sarcastically and with a low voice that sounded vaguely threatening. He didn't really want to speak to her like that, and he certainly didn't want to sound like he was threatening her, but it looked like his shot had gone home by the way she stiffened at the last line.

"Ryan, I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't thinking. I don't think you're lazy." Ryan sighed, trying to calm down. He wanted this argument to be over.

"It's fine, whatever. Look I am sorry for dragging you into this mess, and ordinarily I wouldn't have to. But my depression isn't improving, if anything it's getting worse. I don't know why it is but from time to time I'm going to need some help. And you know me, I never ask for help."

"You really need to work on that, you know."

"Yeah I... I am." The tension was lifting ever so slightly and to the relief of both of them it seemed clear that the conversation was coming to an end.

"And I will help you. But if I get something wrong just explain it to me. Don't hold it against me. I haven't gone through what you have, not really. So it's going to be that I'm not going to understand everything immediately, okay?"

"Okay." It was the most reasonable conclusion they'd ever had to an argument.

That was in the earlier days when Charlie was still coming to terms with the fact that Ryan was clinically depressed. Nowadays, she still got a bit tetchy if she had to cover for him for more than a few days, but she'd gotten much better at dealing with him in general. When she came into his room to tell him off about Thomas, he liked that she hadn't let him off the hook just because he was feeling down, like she might have done before. Okay, so he hadn't exactly wanted to get told off, that part was annoying, but it was more the fact that Charlie continued to treat him like normal, and not as if he was so delicate that even raising your voice would shatter him. A few social workers in the past had acted like that towards him, and it pissed him off no end.

He still wasn't keen on forcing Charlie to go to all the trouble of lying to Mike and May Li, which he knew she hated doing, just for his benefit, so he had hoped that this episode wouldn't roll over onto Monday. Unfortunately that was just wishful thinking.

School used to be quite easy to avoid. Ryan would just have to call them up, pretend to be Mike and say that Ryan was ill and wouldn't be coming in today. He even put on a pretty convincing Irish accent just for added authenticity. It might've been a bit pointless but in case the receptionist had ever phoned Mike up (and judging by the chaos that usually followed a large group of pre teen care kids, this was likely), and remembered his voice, Ryan needed to cover all his bases. Besides, it was quite fun to do. It was then simple for Charlie to tell Mike that Ryan had already left, or returned, depending on which part of the day it was. This was believable since with so many kids the school rush was overwhelmingly hectic. Half the time Charlie didn't even have to say anything. No one asked.

But one time Charlie made the mistake of pretending that Ryan had gone on ahead within hearing range of the others. Chloe had looked at her suspiciously and claimed that Ryan hadn't even come downstairs. He wasn't at breakfast. Charlie was then forced to admit that Ryan had skipped breakfast, but that he _had_ already left, they'd just missed him. Ryan was a bit annoyed that Charlie had told them that he was missing meals, but she convinced him that it was the only thing she could've said. And since Mike only thought it was that one time, Ryan wouldn't get much more than a warning.

"He'll be watching me closer at breakfast now," Ryan sighed. "I'll have to think of a different excuse."

"You're going to quite a lot of effort to do this. Wouldn't it be easier to just-"

"Charlie. No. The effort to do this is nothing compared to the effort of going to school when you can't even see the point of opening your eyes." Charlie refrained from mentioning it again, but Ryan was permanently worried that she'd soon find him to be more trouble than it was worth and end up ditching him.

"Tell you what, stick with the excuse. But wait until the others have left. Then, I dunno, take a bit of toast with you. Say it's for me and I've already gone."

"That's incredibly risky." Ryan looked across from her and sighed.

"Then we'll just have to hope that any future episodes are on the fucking weekend. This house is a fucking nightmare."

"Ryan..." Charlie was used to his bursts of sudden and unexplainable anger, but she did go on at him about swearing so much. Not that he ever listened.

That Monday was no different. Charlie succeeded once again in explaining away Ryan's general absence, and Ryan once again wonderered how hard this would be if Mike actually paid attention. He concluded that Mike would find out about the true extent of his depression within a matter of days.

For the next few hours, Ryan didn't move. It only vaguely registered in his mind when Mike and May Li left the house at various times to run errands, which would've been quite a relief, but they hardly came into his room anyway. Except when something had gone missing, and he was the first to be searched.

Ryan lay there in the silence. His body had temporarily shut down and if he wasn't able to hear the soft, rhythmic beating of his heart, Ryan would have had to assume that he was dead. Sometimes he'd imagine what that it'd be like if he was. He'd be lying face down on his bed, almost entirely hidden by the covers as usual, and his body would suddenly decide to slow the soft ticking of its gears. There didn't seem much point in keeping them going, it would think, Ryan was barely using them and it was too tiring trying to keep them working. Ryan wouldn't even notice when his heartbeat grew fainter, the beating simply being replaced by the ticking of the clock in his desk. Then his chest would refuse to draw any more air in and his lungs would start to scream... Or would they? Perhaps they'd welcome it. Sometimes when he was in the bath, he'd duck his head under and hold his breath for as long as possible. After a few minutes it would hurt, and the survival instinct would soon kick in. But Ryan could ignore it, and the burning would wash over him and the protest of his lungs would drown out the noise in his head and everything

Was.

Silent.

If Ryan slipped away with no reason and with no struggle, the only thing he'd notice was that his mind would go quiet, and he would only notice because it would be the loudest thing in the world. And the relief would almost be enough to make him start breathing again.

Almost. But not completely.

He'd stay there for another few hours, limp, still, immovable. Same as he'd been before. Until someone found him, probably Charlie. She always checked on him after school. She'd walk into his room without knocking and immediately start talking about... whatever she talked about. Ryan never really listened. And at first she wouldn't notice anything wrong. It was normal for Ryan to not even acknowledge her presence, or talk to her, or open his eyes. But maybe something would make her stop, some... feeling. Did a room feel different when someone had died, even if you weren't aware that they had died? Ryan didn't know but it seemed likely that the room would just feel a bit... off.

Charlie would look more closely at him. The skin that was visible from the duvet would be paler, almost blue. Perhaps his lips would be blue. And the usual steady rise and fall of his chest would be missing. He would be utterly still. Charlie's eyes would widen as the realisation hit her, and she'd immediately fall into a temporary state of denial. She could see the evidence but she would refuse to believe it. In a last ditch attempt she'd grab his wrist and check his pulse, maybe check the one in his neck, then she'd place her shaking hand on his chest, willing there to be any kind of beat, no matter how faint. But there would be nothing. Ryan was gone and nothing and no one could bring him back. She should just walk away and forget all about him. But she'd continue to fight for any scrap of hope. She'd scream for Mike and May Li, thinking that there must be something _they_ could do. But of course there wasn't. Why would there be? All they could do was scream at him as well, although this time it would be with fear and desperation rather than anger. It was almost a shame that Ryan wouldn't be able to hear it. But Ryan. Was. Gone.

And everything was silent.

Ryan could never work out whether this was a nice thought or not. The premise was of course morbid and alarming, but he didn't reject it, or force himself to stop thinking about it like he would have done had he disliked it. It didn't scare him, not at all. It was only a hypothetical scenario after all. He was simply playing a harmless game of What If? If anything it was a good distraction.

The front door slammed and Ryan was vaguely surprised to hear multiple voices. High pitched and cheery. The others were back. Ryan hadn't noticed how much time had passed but then, he never did.

A few minutes later, on cue, Charlie was walking into his room. She didn't knock and she immediately launched into a summary of all her daily anecdotes, and this time Ryan attempted to listen.

"-and the club didn't meet today cos Ellie was sick so I had to eat lunch in the canteen and Richard Morris from Year 9 tried to pick a fight with this older kid and it was quite funny, because you know, he's very small. And he didn't do much but the teachers got involved-" Ryan nearly smiled at her attempt to pretend that everything was fine, that the only sickness that he was dealing with was the kind that Ellie What's-her-name had.

Charlie stopped to take a breath, and Ryan lifted his fingers as an indication that he was still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may have noticed that the chapter titles have changed (assuming the update worked) Yes, they are titles of songs (you're seeing a theme now, right?) And I wanted to do this originally but a) I forgot and b) I didn't want to think of names. I'm lazy like that. But then out of sheer boredom I spent like half an hour thinking about good song titles and I decided to go for it. Better late than never I guess. The titles differ, sometimes it's just the titles that suit the chapter, sometimes it's just the song. Most of the time it's both. They're all good songs though, so I recommend them.
> 
> Also, let me know if you actually want me to make a 'Great Depression' playlist (inspired by Simon's playlist from the book, Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda, also called The Great Depression.) I decided to add it in because it just fit Ryan. He'd definitely name a playlist that. The songs on his though differ from the ones in the book, 'celt for The Smiths. But yeah, if you want me to make it, probably a YT playlist, I'll link it next chapter.


	6. Girls and Boys

**Warning: Brief mention/flashback of suicide attempt**

* * *

 

_"He's more your type if I'm honest."_

Once things had gone back to normal and Ryan didn't find it so hard to leave his room, he'd occasionally been replaying the last conversation he'd had with Charlie. Since it had mostly been about Thomas he couldnt really help but listen, but it wasn't really Thomas he was thinking about. Not directly anyway. He was thinking about why Charlie had said that Thomas was his type. Once Ryan had gotten over the initial surprise that not only was there a vague possibility that the two of them were compatible but that it was also visible to other parties (something that he was not particularly happy about), he'd wondered why Charlie had bothered to say something like that. It wasn't a suggestion it was a joke. There was no way Charlie could know because he'd never told a soul. Well, that wasn't strictly true. He'd told one person, once. But as that person never had and never would have any contact with any person in this house, it wasn't even an option worth worrying about.

However, there was something about the way she'd said it that he liked. She was teasing. Friendly teasing that they did all the time. She would have said the same thing if Thomas had been a girl. She had said it because it was funny to see the reaction one gives when accused of having a crush on someone. She'd say the same thing if she knew that Ryan was gay and thought he had a crush on a guy.

And that thought alone made him want to tell her more that anything. He wanted her to tease him about having a crush on a boy. He wanted her to shoot him knowing looks from across a room when he was talking animatedly to a male classmate, like she occasionally did when he appeared to be interested in a girl. Maybe when she actually did all that stuff he would find it extremely annoying, but for the moment he liked the thought that for once someone would treat him normally just for being who he was. He'd never really experienced that before. The first time he came out was almost the last. Ryan shuddered at the thought. He didn't want to think about that time.

But it was years ago now. He needed to move on from that bad experience and just let himself live his life. And he needed to start by telling Charlie.

He sat at his desk for hours, staring blankly at his computer. He'd turned it on to play games, as a distraction, but he couldn't focus at all. So he gave up and fell deep in thought, not even noticing that he'd lost the game ages ago. Music was blasting from one of the open tabs but Ryan couldn't be bothered to scroll through and find which one it was. So he sat there with some Enimem song as the background music to his thoughts.

If Ryan told Charlie he was gay, would he have to tell her about Thomas as well? He was getting tired of trying to pretend to himself that he didn't like Thomas, but he had known that it would end badly. He didn't think it was necessary to tell Charlie because there wouldn't be much point. Nothing would happen between him and Thomas because there would always be that glaringly obvious problem that Thomas was straight. Ryan just needed to forget about it. There'd be other guys, no big deal. He couldn't have a boyfriend while he was in school anyway.

He'd tell Charlie tomorrow. The sooner he got it over with the better. Perhaps if he considered this his first time coming out, things would be okay. He just had to make sure that he wouldn't think about before. Because he couldn't let the past control his future. Not anymore. The future would be too painful otherwise.

* * *

 

" _You can't tell anyone, okay? It's a secret," whispered Ryan, leaning in close to the boy next to him. He couldn't let anyone else hear what he was about to say, it was too private. And it wasn't really a normal conversational gambit, especially when you were eleven. His opening statement should ideally have been "so on Minecraft yesterday-". But unbelievably, this was more important than Minecraft. The school bell had just rung and they were surrounded by the eccentric and nonsensical chatter of primary school-aged children, weaving together their stories of classroom activities and playground games, to the listening ears of enthusiastic parents. Ryan had decided to walk home with his friend Elliott, who lived on the same street as his care home._

_Perhaps 'friend' was an overstatement. Yes, they hung out at school sometimes and yes, Ryan had occasionally been over to Elliott's house, but that was simply to play video games with the multiplayer option on. They weren't exactly life-long pals. Walking home together was usually for convenience. Ryan was a loner and Elliott had his own group of completely different friends, none of whom were particularly keen on Ryan. And Ryan wasn't keen on them. But he liked Elliott. The boy was small, quiet and good at keeping secrets, and unlike everyone else he didn't seem to mind being around Ryan, which was always a bonus. So Ryan had eventually, after long contemplation and observation, deemed him trustworthy enough to tell. His social worker was constantly on at him to trust people more anyway, so perhaps this would be good for him. He'd make his social worker happy at least. And Elliott might not even see it as a big deal. That would be an ideal scenario. Ryan was sick of having his whole life revolve around this one thing that seemed so small to him and yet to others, classmates and social workers, it was all they saw him as. He just wanted someone to say 'okay' and then ask if he wanted to play a game of football. He wanted to feel normal for once. And perhaps Elliott could provide that. Ryan was terrified of course. He still wasn't quite ready to admit to himself what his feelings meant, but he felt like he needed to tell someone, and he wanted to know the reaction. Surely it couldn't hurt just to mention it, right?_

_"Uh, okay. What is it?" Elliott looked at him cautiously, but also with a certain amount of encouragement. He found Ryan to be such a fascinatingly mysterious character that he was eager to hear what Ryan had to say._

* * *

 

Ryan breathed in deeply and then exhaled. Slowly. Five seconds in, seven seconds out. He swallowed. They were on the bed, him and Charlie, in her bedroom. He'd come in originally to help with her physics homework, a subject he was very good at despite finding it soul-crushingly boring when not being discussed on a particularly good episode of The Big Bang Theory. It was a weak point for Charlie though, so he was regularly roped in to help.

They worked in relative silence, Ryan explaining certain formulas here and there and observing how she used them, for around forty minutes before eventually admitting to equal levels of boredom. And a moment later, Ryan left to collect his laptop so they could watch TV. They sat side by side on Charlie's bed with the laptop balanced between themselves, one side on Charlie's left leg the other on Ryan's right, and began to watch some old American sitcom, one which Ryan for once didn't mind the constant stream of quick one-liners because some of them were actually quite good. Charlie laughed quietly along with the canned laughter that erupted from his speakers every few seconds or so, but Ryan remained subdued. He wasn't focusing properly on the jokes so he kept missing the punchline. For the last half an hour, Ryan had been trying to convince himself that now was as good a time as any to tell her. He hadn't quit the physics homework just because he was bored, he had simply started- hypothetically- planning on what he'd say to her, but he grew more and more serious about it until he wasn't able to concentrate on what Charlie was working on. He'd mess up his explanations and she'd end up failing, and he didn't want that.

Okay, so he _had_ technically decided that he'd tell her today, no matter what (an extra detail he'd only added in for encouragement, knowing full well that if there was an opportunity not to tell her, he wouldn't think twice about taking it), but it still felt too soon. They'd been friends for ages now and they'd known each other for even longer, so it felt weird keeping something like this from her, but at the same time... was he ready? He sighed. No, he wasn't ready. And until he'd gotten it over with and seen her reaction, he'd never be ready. If he didn't do it now he'd be hiding forever, living like someone else simply because he was permanently waiting until he felt _ready_. He was as ready as he could force himself to be, and right now that had to be enough.

Ryan took in another deep breath to calm down. If he had an anxiety attack at a time that didn't appear to call for one, sitting quietly watching light-hearted entertainment, he'd look and feel like a bit of an idiot. And he'd also have to explain why he was panicking in the first place. And then he'd have to come out in a way that he hadn't planned. But it was also the idea of coming out that was making him panic, so now- now he was in a loop. Great.

'Calm the hell down,' he told himself sternly. He was making too much of a big deal out of this. It was ridiculous.

A few more seconds passed and he felt relatively confident that he wouldn't start hyperventilating suddenly and freak Charlie out. So he turned the volume down slightly on his laptop; not turning it off completely (he didn't want to continue making a big thing of this), and looked over at her. Charlie stared back, confused as to what he was doing.

"I can't hear it now," she said. Ryan ignored the comment and fought to get his mouth to open and form some kind of a sentence.

"I need to uh... talk to you about something," he began, his voice barely more than a whisper. It refused to go any louder, as if it hoped that Charlie wouldn't hear a word that he was about to say, and then they could go back to watching trashy TV, and Ryan could feel satisfied in the knowledge that he _had_ technically come out, it's just that Charlie hadn't heard. Not his fault, nothing could be done, life moves on. Unfortunately for him though, she had heard. And her face was now a mix of curiosity and concern. There was no going back now.

* * *

 

" _So, it's kinda weird but, don't like freak out or anything." Ryan had no clue what to say. He'd certainly never done this before, and he never thought he'd ever have to do this, or at least, he'd hoped he wouldn't. But it was getting too hard to deny that nothing was wrong. That everything was normal. He couldn't be sure that what he was feeling was... what he was feeling. But he knew that other boys didn't feel this way. He and his classmates were still quite young, and girls weren't really a big deal to them yet. But they still knew that one day they'd want a girlfriend. They still knew that they'd want to kiss them or whatever. Some of the more "mature" ones already had, and they had felt quite pleased about it. It was all they could talk about, along with making crude comments about the prettier girls in their class. But Ryan didn't really understand their comments. He just couldn't see what the big deal was. He'd hoped that maybe he was just too young. A teacher had once overheard one of their conversations about this girl from the local secondary school which they'd all be attending to next September. The teacher had told them off quite harshly, saying that they were "much too young to be thinking about such things." She was quite old-fashioned but that didn't mean she was wrong. Ryan almost prayed that she wasn't wrong. But if he was too young then he wouldn't be thinking about anyone that way. And he did. Just not towards girls like he was supposed to._

_"So... the thing is..." Should he say it quickly? Or beat around the bush a little? Once again, he felt the panic of being in uncharted territory. How should he go about this? He thought it was best to get it over with and deal with any consequences as fast as possible. "I think I like boys."_

_Elliott was silent for a full moment. He was looking very confused, but apart from that Ryan couldn't read his face at all._

_"Huh?" Was all Elliott said when he'd finally found his voice. Ryan stared at him. Had Elliott not heard? Ryan felt a little hopeful. Now that he'd actually said... it...out loud, he wanted to take it back. Not because he thought it wasn't true, completely the opposite actually. That was the problem. He'd never said it out loud before, and perhaps he should have. The realisation of what he was truly admitting, to himself and Elliott, hit him full force all at once, and he felt like running, or crying. And he definitely didn't want anyone else to know. But it was too late. There was no way Elliott hadn't heard, they were right next to each other. Elliott was just making sure he'd heard correctly. Ryan would have to keep talking. He'd have to keep explaining something that he didn't fully understand himself. And he'd have to keep saying the truth out loud whether he wanted to or not._

_"Boys. I like them. I think I'd rather have a boyfriend than a girlfriend." He had to choke the words out, and he wasn't sure if he was making any sense._

_Elliott stopped walking, so Ryan had to turn around to face him. He still couldn't read the boy's expression, but he could feel the fear rising inside his chest. Elliott was staring at him so intently that he couldn't help but lower his gaze. He saw that his hands were shaking._

* * *

 

"What is it?" Charlie had waited silently for a moment for Ryan to speak, but he was still struggling to find the words, so she was starting to get impatient, though she still seemed more worried than anything else. Ryan could understand why. He never wanted to talk so this was obviously serious. She was probably half expecting policemen to burst through the door any minute and arrest Ryan for some outrageous crime. But the room remained quiet, the kind of intimidating quiet that made Ryan feel very exposed. But this was stupid. He couldn't sit here forever and say nothing. Charlie would get annoyed, or think him mad. And she couldn't just leave because this was her room. _He'd_ have to leave, and that would be horrifically awkward.

Another second passed and he decided that it was now or never. He had to say something. Anything.

"I don't like this show."

* * *

_"I don't get it. You mean you're like, gay or something?" Ryan thought about it. Elliott had said it so easily but Ryan had refused to use the word 'gay' in the past however many months he'd been thinking about this. It felt too final. Like there was nothing he could do about it. But that was stupid. Just because he didn't want to give it a word, didn't mean it would all just go away. He'd have to say it eventually. He'd have to think it eventually._

_"Um... I don't know. Maybe." Ryan still hadn't looked up. He was too scared to see if Elliott's expression had changed or not. But Elliott wasn't saying anything now. Was he just thinking? Or had he legged it immediately, leaving Ryan to stand there with his head down like a weirdo. Ryan didn't like that thought so he forced himself to at least raise his eyes. Elliott was still there. Watching. His mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite think of the words. His face was still just as unreadable as before, but finally he took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on Ryan's._

_"Okay," he said shortly, his voice wobbling ever so slightly as if he had to force the word out. Ryan suddenly felt as confused as Elliott had been. His physical reaction had seemed much more dramatic than his verbal reaction. They didn't match. Something was off._

_"Okay?" Repeated Ryan, in an almost challenging tone. Elliott glanced at his feet, looking painfully uncomfortable as if he very much wanted to be far away from here, and far away from Ryan. Ryan couldn't help but sympathise. He_ had  _just dropped this out of the blue, and it was by no means a fun nor lighthearted conversation. It was the type of thing you talked about with a parent, or counsellor, or best friend. But since Ryan had none of those, Elliott was really his only option. He just hoped that Elliott's awkwardness was simply because the conversation was... well, awkward._

_"Uh... yeah. Okay. Whatever. I don't... care." There was a pause. Ryan opened his mouth to say something, but Elliott immediately cut him off._

_"I think I should uh... go. I need to go." He started walking in the opposite direction._

_"Your house is his way," called Ryan, pointing his thumb in the direction of where they'd been walking, before he ruined the entire mood._

_"I know, I just... left something at school." Without pausing, Elliott turned the corner, and Ryan was left standing alone on the pavement. Like an idiot._

* * *

 

 

I don't like this show. _I don't like this show._ Ryan internally kicked himself and his eyes raised up towards the ceiling in disbelief, as if to say "are you actually kidding me?" to his brain. Charlie stared at him like he was crazy, and Ryan had every sympathy.

"You what?" She said. Ryan had two choices here. He could either come out right now and admit that he had just been too nervous to say it at first, which was actually perfectly reasonable and he wouldn't lose much face. She might laugh at him a bit but she'd understand. Or, he could continue looking like an idiot and stick to this sudden hatred of a TV show which was apparently so great that he needed to have a serious conversation over it. Surely it was obvious which choice was best.

"You heard. The show sucks. Dunno why we're watching it." Christ almighty.

"You put it on," reminded Charlie. If he could just say it now, right now, he could still get away with it. Keep some dignity.

"Yeah, 'cos I thought you liked it."

"I mean, I'm pretty indifferent if I'm honest. You could have just said first time."

"Well I didn't, so..." Ryan looked at the door, judging the distance and working out if he could successfully dive through it from where he was sitting. However, the door was closed, and he was confident that, tempting as it was right now, slamming his head against the wood probably wouldn't make the conversation any less awkward. And Charlie was still staring.

"What?" Defended Ryan, as if anything he had said in the past five minutes made sense. Charlie raised an eyebrow at him.

"What do you mean 'what'? You're acting weird."

"No I'm not," he sulked, and even quieter added "you are."

"I'm really not. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing! Just... shut up." He wasn't angry at her, of course. He was entirely pissed at himself for chickening out. But either way, he was in a bad mood. And since Charlie was the only person in the room, she had to take the brunt of it.

There was silence between them for a second, before Ryan decided that he couldn't take it any more, and he abruptly stood up, walked out of the room, and slammed the door.

* * *

 

_Ryan didn't hear from Elliott for the rest of the day. He tried to call him a few times once he got back home, but he gave up after it kept going to voicemail. He didn't leave any messages._

_"Maybe he's not mad, maybe he just got kidnapped coming back from school," said one of the older kids who had asked why Ryan kept looking at his phone. Ryan had briefly explained that he'd had a conversation with a friend and it hadn't ended well, skipping of course over the detail of what the conversation had been about._

_"How is that supposed to help?" Ryan sighed, checking his phone one more time before putting it away, feeling dejected and pretty sorry for himself._

_"I dunno. Solves your problem I guess."_

_He was up all night going over every detail of his interaction with Elliott, telling himself how much he'd screwed it all up, and not only that but now Elliott knew. What had he been thinking? He couldn't trust anyone with a secret like that._

_Before going to sleep, Ryan sent one last text:_

**Please don't tell anyone.**

_No reply._

_Ryan did not want to go to school the next day. He couldn't think of anything worse. Elliot would most likely continue to ignore him, and though they weren't exactly close in school and it wouldn't make much of a difference ordinarily, Ryan still didn't really fancy the looks that Elliott would no doubt give him, or the panic he'd feel every time he saw Elliott talk to his friends._

_What Ryan didn't know at that point, was just how much worse it would actually be._

* * *

 

He avoided Charlie for the rest of the day, which wasn't too hard since all he did was stay in his room. He was surprised that she hadn't tried to bother him about what happened, but he assumed that she was just mad at him. He had acted pretty unreasonably towards her after all. But he didn't apologise. Because despite everything, he was still too proud to confront her again and admit that he'd been an idiot, so he simply refused to look her in the eye, or speak to her. Like a coward.

He knew that Charlie would eventually break her silence towards him and ask what the hell was going on, and he knew he'd have to tell her, and that scared him. So he tried to put it off for as long as possible. It would be easier on Monday when they got to school, because he hardly saw her during school anyway, but the journey there was a worry. It would take Charlie a second to ask what was wrong, and it would take a second for Ryan to answer. And there'd be 600 seconds for this to happen.

'Why're you being such a wimp?' Ryan said to himself that night, lying flat on his bed and as usual unable to quieten his thoughts and go to sleep. 'It's so much hassle, can't you just tell her?'

'Remember what happened last time we told someone? Last time we trusted someone? How it ended?' Ryan replied back, trying desperately to forget what he was telling himself to remember.

'That's because you told the wrong person. Charlie wouldn't-'

'Doesn't matter. Once I tell her, I'll have to tell everybody, and no one can keep a secret in this damn place. Soon people at school would know. That's where it all goes wrong.'

'You don't have to tell everyone...' But the voice said it quietly, trailing off at the end as if it wasn't convinced of what it was saying. Truth was, he didn't have to tell everybody, but he would have to tell Chloe. No matter how much they didn't get along sometimes, he couldn't exactly keep this from his sister, not for long. And as much as he wanted to trust her with this secret, she hadn't yet proved herself to be trustworthy. Not towards him anyway. What if this was like that time she told Tee and Sasha that he was scared of ghost stories? He knew she hadn't done it to be malicious, if anything she was trying to get them to stop spying on him. But she'd been too trustworthy. And that was the problem. She trusted everyone, he trusted no one. It was one of the many differences between each other. Furthermore, Chloe was best friends with Candi-Rose, Ashdene Ridge's resident gossip. If Chloe told her it'd be all over. The whole house, the whole school, the whole bloody world would know within 24 hours. So he just couldn't risk it. But sometimes taking a risk wasn't as hard as not taking it.

* * *

 

_Ryan knew something was wrong as soon as he entered the classroom. Not that it wasn't immediately obvious. When he opened the door everyone went silent and stared at him, as if he was the teacher, about to reprimand them for sitting on the tables. But it wasn't a scared or respectful silence, it was more like they were waiting for something to happen, something involving Ryan. A few people were hiding their smiles with their hands, or stifling laughter. Ryan instantly felt the familiar wave of dread wash over him. Two people glanced quickly at the whiteboard then back at him. Ryan followed their gaze, and his stomach plummeted. The words 'Ryan Reeves is queer' were written right across the board in capital letters. A few sniggers went around the classroom as they saw that Ryan had finally noticed._

_He didn't let anyone see his reaction. He was angry and upset, but the only visible sign of distress was a single twitch of a muscle in his jaw, and he calmly walked up to the board, took the eraser, and rubbed out those four words. The class lost it over Ryan's unsubtle acknowledgement, and the laughter and shouts didn't die down until the teacher arrived and informed them all that he could hear them from outside and if they didn't shut up he'd lock them all in the supply cupboard. No one ever knew if he was joking or not. He was quite nice though, and if he had seen the crude message scrawled across the board he might have actually done something. But Ryan didn't want that. For starters, no matter what the teacher did it wouldn't make much of a difference. The kids would just bully him in secret. And this way, it wouldn't be drawn attention to. There was nothing worse than the whole class being forbidden to leave until the culprit of whatever childish joke they'd done had come forward, and the victim had to sit there while every pair of eyes were glaring at his head, as if it was his fault. As if he had asked to be harassed. It was easier this way._

_The teacher told Ryan to sit back down, and by the look he gave he probably suspected that Ryan had caused all the noise, which was technically true but ironically, Ryan had yet to say a word. And as he turned back towards the smug-looking students, he caught sight of Elliot, right at the back, whispering something to his neighbour and grinning. Ryan wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid grin off his face. It didn't exactly take a genius to work out who had written the words. The anger in Ryan's eyes must have been visible because when Elliott briefly met them, his smile faltered, and a tiny flicker of what looked like guilt crossed across his face for a moment, but quickly passed as someone else whispered a reply in his ear, and guilt quickly turned to amusement. Ryan sat down at his desk and faced away from him. If this is what happened when you told someone you were gay, then he vowed never to do it again._

* * *

 

'What happened next?'

His mind asked, forcing him to relive the memories. Ryan knew exactly what happened next. He didn't need to remind himself, it's all he'd been thinking about lately. What happened next was about six months of pure torture. He knew kids could be cruel but surely this was a different level? Kids couldn't really think these things nowadays, could they? But as usual that was simply wishful thinking. School kids were like sharks. They stalked the corridors looking for their prey. But instead of flesh, their prey were kids with the wrong haircut or the wrong clothes. Ryan's hair and clothes were fine, he even managed to look cool sometimes, but there was of course that small little snag of him liking boys. Before, he'd been able to swim around quite easily, hidden from the sharks' view, who were far away and weren't bothered about him anyway. But Elliot had broken Ryan's leg, and Ryan was now splashing around trying not to drown, which had inadvertently alerted the sharks and they had started to take an interest.

He'd tried to fight, at first. Words weren't enough so he usually used his fists. Anytime anyone laughed at him or shouted something stupid at him or called him things he didn't want to be called, they'd most often end up with a black eye or split lip. And it worked for a while. Not wanting to risk a broken face most people left him alone, but when he went up against the toughest and meanest kids, most of whom had managed to rope in their older brothers from Secondary school, he walked away as, if not more damaged than they did, physically and mentally. He knew all about sticks and stones and words, but when you thought about it, insults could be hurled in just the same way as bullets, and though he was no expert, Ryan was pretty fucking sure that bullets hurt. So these kids not only had their fists but they also had the added weapon of numerous, fierce insults, rained down upon Ryan between punches.

Eventually he just got tired. He stopped hiding the bruises from the care workers, he stopped fighting the other kids and suspension, he stopped caring altogether. Something had happened to him. Something was wrong.

Ryan rolled over so that his head was buried into his pillow. It was quiet and dark. Four years ago he started feeling what he felt now, that emptiness, that hopelessness. Like nothing would ever change, and he'd be stuck in this eternal loop. And four years ago he didn't know what to do about it. It crept up on him without any warning and latched itself onto his chest, his throat and his brain, squeezing until the life drained out of him. And it was permanent as well. There were no good days or bad days like there were now. There was nothing to fight for. Just a dark tunnel that went on forever.

Ryan regularly wondered whether the bullying was solely to blame. It was certainly an important factor- it wasn't exactly easy waking up every morning knowing that hoards of kids were waiting for him at the gates, fists raised and tongues sharpened- or if it was just inevitable. Ryan had always been a rather sad and lonely child, who'd already suffered through a lot by the time most kids were learning to ride a bike. His mother had caused him to develop an overwhelming feeling of guilt and self-hatred which had eaten him alive. Ryan was screwed from the beginning.

And the realisation of all this hit him full force four years ago. And he was pissed. If he'd been written off by the universe before he'd even had a chance to live, what was the point of carrying on? What did he have in life? Who did he have? His mum hated him enough already. If she knew that he was... well, needless to say, even if Chloe's accident had never happened, it'd still be inevitable that he'd be kicked out and disowned. And he'd ruined Chloe's life so she hated him as well. He didn't deserve to live unharmed after what he did to Chloe. So what did he have to lose? All there was at the moment was school, and he didn't think he could bare spending the next seven years or so trapped in a place that wasn't made for people like him. He'd be lucky if he survived the next seven years. And after school? A job? No one lived for their job, and Ryan didn't know what he wanted to be anyway. The only reason he studied hard was so he could one day escape from this place. Marriage? Yeah, like he'd ever be able to marry a man. He knew school didn't accept him but did the world? If his interactions with the so-called "future generation" had anything to go by, probably not. What else was there? Kids? Same problem. Besides, he didn't think he'd be a very good father. He hadn't even been able to look after his little sister. What if the same thing happened to his own kid? He wouldn't be able to live with himself ever again.

'Face it,' he'd told himself. 'You have nothing to live for.' He'd tried to convince himself otherwise.

'Don't be stupid, of course I do. I thought we wanted to leave this place one day, go to university, get a flat, travel the world even.'

'Alone? No ones ever liked you, Ryan. And no one ever will. You don't belong here. You don't belong anywhere.'

'You're just being dramatic. Just cos I told Elliott. I know I shouldn't have but-'

'But you did. And you saw what the reaction was. That's what the world thinks of you, Ryan. Do you really want to live like that? Forever? It won't change when you get to Secondary cos they already know. And it'll follow you into uni, and then life. I don't want that. Do you?'

'I mean... I guess not.'

* * *

 

They found him in the bathroom on a Wednesday afternoon, when he should have been in school. He'd been sitting in the headmaster's office after a meeting had been set up by his social worker about suspected bullying. He didn't want to talk to the headmaster and tell him what was going on, and pretend that he didn't know who'd beat him up, or followed him home or sent him texts and messages and posts telling him to kill himself, but at the same time he couldn't help but hope that maybe the headmaster would help him. After all, didn't he have a duty to help every student no matter what? Ryan just wanted one person to tell him that he was normal, and that it was okay to feel what he was feeling. But of course, it never happened.

The headmaster wouldn't look Ryan in the eye as he asked whether or not he'd tried to keep out of their way. Ryan had monotonously replied 'yes', but inside every last string that was holding him up snapped, and he just wanted to leave, and go somewhere dark, and close his eyes, and sleep forever.

"Maybe you haven't tried hard enough." Ryan pondered the statement for a moment, realised it wasn't even worth responding, stood up, and without a word, left the room. As the door shut he was vaguely aware of his name being called. But Ryan didn't turn around. He tuned out his surroundings and walked right out of school without hesitation, his whole body feeling numb.

He didn't stop until he got back to the house. He didn't stop until he'd opened the door and walked upstairs without anyone noticing. He didn't stop until he'd shut himself in the bathroom. He didn't stop until the bottle of painkillers were in his hand.

Then it should have stopped forever.

But the last thing he heard was screaming, and soon after, a siren. And the darkness was interrupted by flashing blue lights. So now everything was moving faster than ever, hurtling Ryan into hospitals, therapy sessions, medications, new care home, new school, right into the present day, as fifteen year old Ryan walked back home from school with Charlie next to him, sharing an iPod between themselves. It was calm and quiet, and Ryan didn't feel nervous anymore. He was done with that. He'd already suffered through the worst years ago. And he didn't want it to have been in vain. That nothing would ever change and therefore wouldn't have even mattered if he had lived or died.

Ryan took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and turned towards Charlie.

"I need to tell you something."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> Okay, so definitely a little different from my previous Scorbus fanfictions, but I'm planning on this becoming my main "project" now. I really hope y'all like it, and I'll try and update as regularly as i can, but this hoe is in the middle of GCSE studies, so finding the time to write is gonna be tricky, but I will try as hard as i can to not let this fanfiction become *shudders* discontinued. Reviews would be awesome, especially since I know how small the fanbase is for The Dumping Ground, so hopefully this gets even a notice. Things you might want to know before I continue:
> 
> 1\. Yes, in case you haven't guessed yet, Ryan is gay.
> 
> 2\. Any love interests will probably be OCs
> 
> 3\. Don't click off, I too hate OCs as much as the next person, especially in The Dumping Ground fanbase where most fanfictions are riddled with OCs. None of my own characters will be residents of Ashdene Ridge, they will simply be there as school characters, and relationship purposes.
> 
> 4\. This fanfiction is set around, or just after, series 6, though I might touch on a few elements of the new series, for example, the slight friendship that seems to have formed between Ryan and Charlie. Though, I'm going to be expanding it here, mainly cos I love Charlie and I would like to write about her.
> 
> 5\. The title and quote at the beginning of the fic is from a Twenty Øne Piløts song by the same name, and I really recommend listening to it, I feel like it suits Ryan a lot, or at least, the Ryan in this fic.
> 
> 7\. Cover image is from Lewis G Hamilton's Instagram. All credit goes to him and the photographer. Hope i did that right, although honestly i wouldnt mind if Lewis copyrighted me, please take my money, you need more make up, you fabulous queen (seriously hAVE YOU SEEN HIS MAKE UP SKILLS? AM STILL IN AWE).
> 
> 6\. Uhhh, I think that's it? Any questions I'll answer in the author's notes of later chapters, so feel free to ask :)
> 
> Anything else?
> 
> ...
> 
> Brendon Urie is our lord and saviour. Also stream Trench on ITunes


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